THE  GIFT  OF 

MAY  TREAT  MORRISON 

IN  MEMORY  OF 

ALEXANDER  F  MORRISON 


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THE  COLLECTED  WRITINGS 

OF 

SAMUEL     LOVER 


Creasure  Zvtiht  <Dtfiti0iT 


VOLUME  I 


N 


INE  hundred  sets  of  the  Treasure  Trove  Edition  of 
The  Collected  Writings  of  Samuel  Lover  have  been 
printed,  of  which  this  is  Number... 


VU.rSWtjrtliWC^Mi*!' 


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// 


i^M^^O^tO/^t^ 


TMEASUME  TROVE  EBITIO^ 

VOLUME  ONE 


The  Collected  Tf^ritings  of 
S  A  M  U  E  L    LOVER 


RORY   O'MORE 

A   National    Romance 

With  a  Biographical  and  Critical  Introducticn 
4yJx-\MES    JEFFREY    ROCHE 

IN  rw 0   VOLUMES  •    VOL  UM E    OXE 


^ 


BOSTON     '     LITTLE,    BROW^ 
^   N  D      C  O  M  P  A  X  Y     •     MDCCCCIII 


\ 


Copyright,  IQOi,  by 
L/t/yiUE;  IJrown,  ©"Co. 


TTNIVERSITY  PRESS    •  JOHN  WILSON 
AND   SON    •      CAMBRIDGE,   U.  S.  A. 


pp. 


INTRODUCTION 

SAMUEL  LOVER  was  the  oldest  son  of  John 
Lover,  a  Dublin  stockbroker,  and  his  wife, 
Abigail,  whose  maiden  name  was  Maher.  The  pa- 
ternal name  would  seem  to  be  of  English  origin, 
though  no  tradition  exists  to  show  whether  it  was 
so  or  not.  The  custom  which  prevailed  so  long  in 
Ireland  of  compelling  the  natives  to  adopt  English 
surnames  leaves  the  genealogy  of  the  Lovers,  in  the 
absence  of  anv  family  records,  in  a  state  of  uncer- 
tainty like  that  of  thousands  of  other  Lish  families. 
We  know  only  that  the  family  were  Protestant,  and 
thus  safe  from  most  of  the  annoyances  and  all  of  the 
disabilities  laid  upon  the  large  majority  of  their  country- 
men, at  the  troublous  time  when  young  Lover  was 
born,  which  was  on   the  twenty-fourth   of  February, 

1797- 

It  was  the  year  before  the  outbreak  known  as  the 

Rebellion  of  '98.  Even  those  of  the  dominant  faith 
and  unquestioned  loyalty  were  not  always  safe  from 
the  outrages  perpetrated  by  a  brutal  soldier}'  in  the 
hour  of  their  insolence.  One  of  Lover's  earliest  ex- 
periences, which  made  a  lasting  impression  on  his 
mind,  is  narrated  by  Bayle  Bernard  as  follows :  — 
"  Soldiers,  in  those  days,  were  billeted  on  the  citi- 


4325?3 


vi  Introductio 


n 


zens  of  Dublin,  but  the  occupants  of  private  houses 
had  the  option  of  giving  a  trooper  a  shilling,  in  order 
that   he  might  get  a  bed  elsewhere.     On  one  occa- 
sion, when  Mr.   Lover  was   absent  at   his  office,  a 
soldier  with  a   drummer-boy  made  his  appearance  at 
his   door,  and   on  being  tendered   the   two  shillings, 
refused  to  take  them,  and  insisted  on  sleeping  in  the 
house  instead,  coupling  the  demand  with  a  remark 
and   look  which  were  very  oiFensive  to  Mrs.  Lover. 
Ordered  to  wait  outside  the  dwelling  while  she  sent 
word  to  the  '  Billet  Office,'  he  boldly  entered  the  hall 
and  tried  to  close  the  door,  upon  which  Mrs.  Lover 
in    her  fright  rushed   to   the   steps,   followed  by  her 
child,  where   she    was    discovered    by   her    husband, 
when  he  at  length  returned  from  business,  trembling, 
pallid,   and   almost  speechless.     Enraged,  of  course, 
at   such   an  insult,  he  sprang   into  the  house,  when 
the   soldier  attempted    to  draw  his  bayonet,  but   was 
speedily   knocked   down  and  afterwards  closed  with 
in  a  struggle,  which  lasted  amidst  the  yells  of  Mas- 
ter Samuel  and  the  drummer-boy  until  an  officer  ar- 
rived from  the  Billet   Office  to  offer  an  apology  and 
remove  the  culprit." 

It  was  the  era  in  which  "  the  Fine  Old  Irish  Gentle- 
man "  flourished  most  luxuriantly  ;  the  era  of  drinking, 
duelling,  and  debts,  celebrated  in  song  and  story.  It 
has  been  painted  a  hundred  times  in  fiction.  Sheil 
describes  it  in  veracious  prose,  and  Sir  Jonah  Bar- 
rington  in  a  happy  blending  of  romance  and  truth 
which  he  calls  "  Personal  Sketches  of  His  Own 
Times."  The  riotous  young  members  of  the  aris- 
tocracy  who  had  their  counterparts  in  London  also, 


Introduction  vii 

terrorised  the  peaceable  town  folk  by  running  amok 
at  irregular  intervals,  with  the  ferocity  and  the  sense 
of  humour  of  a  drunken  Kaffir.  They  called  them- 
selves by  various  titles,  "  Bucks,"  "  Bloods,"  "  Mo- 
hawks," "  Sweaters,"  "  Chalkers,"  and  other  names 
which  we  should  supersede  in  these  days  with  the 
comprehensive  synonym.  Blackguards.  They  were 
hard  drinkers,  and  those  who  escaped  death  by  the 
sword  or  pistol  generally  achieved  it  by  breaking 
their  necks  in  the  steeple-chase,  or  by  falling  more 
ingloriously  in  the  lists  of  Bacchus.  Of  i^v^  of  them 
could  it  be  said  they  died  too  soon.  One  wishes  that 
more  of  them  had  been  beloved  of  other  gods  than 
him  of  the  wine-cup. 

Such  a  society  had  no  attractions  for  a  youth  of 
gentle  instincts  whose  tastes  ran  towards  painting, 
poetr)',  music,  and  story-telling.  Young  Lover  was 
a  delicate  child  physically,  and  his  parents  wisely  sent 
him,  in  his  twelfth  year,  to  spend  a  long  vacation  at 
a  farmhouse  in  the  Wicklow  Mountains.  There, 
in  the  health-giving  free  air,  he  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  the  best  two  friends  that  he  could  have 
found,  Nature  in  all  her  moods,  and  Man  in  his 
best  estate,  that  of  the  simple,  honest  tiller  of  the 
soil.  He  loved  them  both  forever  after,  and  well 
was  his  love  returned. 

In  spite  of  Juliet,  there  is  something  in  a  name, 
when  name  and  nature  go  together,  as  they  did  in 
the  case  of  Lover.  Usually  they  do  not.  His  name 
meant  what  he  was,  and,  because  he  was  so,  the 
affection  of  all  the  world  went  out  to  him  by  prover- 
bial prescription.      He   achieved  a  thing  always   dif- 


viii  Introduction 

ficult,  generally  impossible  :  he  wrote  of  a  people, 
of  their  virtues  and  their  foibles,  their  manners  and 
customs,  their  likes  and  their  dislikes ;  and  he  did  it 
without  awakening  their  indignation  or  wounding 
their  susceptibilities.  For  succeeding  in  that  most 
delicate  task  he  had  to  thank  the  name  and  nature 
which  were  his.  He  saw  his  people  with  sympa- 
thetic eyes,  and  they,  being  a  warm-hearted  people 
none  too  familiar  with  loving  treatment  of  any  sort, 
returned  the  affection  and  laughed  good-humouredly 
because  he  laughed  with  and  not  at  them.  He  was 
"  one  of  themselves,"  moreover,  and  that  means 
much,  as  Dickens  discovered  when  he  ventured  to 
draw  America  as  he  saw  it ;  as  Cable  did  when  he 
depicted  Creole  life,  and  Kipling  when  he  offered 
well-meant  patronage  to  the  fishermen  of  Gloucester. 
The  Englishman,  less  sensitive  than  the  American, 
the  Irishman,  or  the  Scot,  is  impervious  to  satire  and, 
after  mature  digestion  and  ultimate  assimilation  of  it, 
relishes  a  joke  against  himself  almost  as  well  as  one 
against  his  neighbours ;  but  the  Irishman  enjoys  it  all 
the  time. 

Young  Lover  came  back  at  the  end  of  a  year, 
strengthened  in  mind  and  body,  and  spent  the  follow- 
ing eighteen  months  in  school,  from  which  he  was 
taken  into  his  father's  office  to  learn  the  uncongenial 
trade  of  a  stockbroker.  There  he  worked  all  day, 
faithfully  but  without  enthusiasm,  and  devoted  his 
evenings  to  the  cultivation  of  the  Muses.  His  was 
already  a  catholic  taste,  modestly  embracing  painting, 
music,  poetry,  and  even  play-writing,  on  a  very  small 
scale. 


Introduction  ix 

It  is  doubtful  if  anybody  ever  undertook  the  study  of 
art  under  more  discouraging  circumstances.  Whether 
or  not  it  is  judicious  from  a  worldly  point  of  view  for 
a  business-like  parent  to  encourage  a  child's  artistic 
aspirations  is  a  question  about  which  painters  and 
Philistines  will  disagree  to  the  end  of  the  chapter. 
It  is  true  I  have  heard  an  artist,  more  successful 
artistically  than  financiallv,  say  that  he  would  not 
refuse  a  child  of  his  permission  to  play  with  a  box 
of  paints,  on  the  ground  that  it  might  either  become 
a  painter  or  it  might  poison  itself,  the  latter  being  a 
happy  alternative  to  the  former.  This  painter  was 
a  philosopher.  Also  he  had  no  children.  Lover's 
father,  with  the  ver}-  best  intentions,  employed  the 
most  vigorous  arguments  to  dissuade  his  son  from  the 
pursuit  of  painting  and  kindred  arts.  He  ridiculed 
the  boy's  literary  efforts,  broke  up  his  miniature  stage 
properties  with  a  poker,  and  even  sent  him  to  Lon- 
don, the  commercial  Babylon,  to  woo  Fortune  in  the 
temple  of  trade. 

It  was  all  in  vain.  At  the  age  of  se\-enteen  the 
boy  returned  to  Dublin  without  a  profession  or  any 
training  in  art  except  that  which  he  had  taught  him- 
self, and  undertook  to  earn  his  own  living  with  pencil 
and  brush.  "  How  Hibernian  !  "  exclaims  his  biogra- 
pher; and  so  it  was.  But  his  countryman.  Gold- 
smith, had  taken  even  a  wilder  risk  when  he  went 
penniless  to  Holland,  to  teach  English,  without 
knowing  a  word  of  Dutch  ! 

Nevertheless  Lover  was  to  become  first  and  to 
remain  best  known  to  his  countrymen  by  his  literary 
work.      In  his  twenty-first  year  he  wrote  a  song  for  a 


X  Introduction 

great  banquet  which  was  given  to  Thomas  Moore. 
All  the  literary  celebrities  were  present  and  the  young 
bard  sang  his  lay,  which  was  called  "  The  Poet's 
Election,"  amid  the  applause  of  a  very  distinguished 
audience.  Moore  was  especially  delighted  and,  after 
the  close  of  the  banquet,  sought  out  and  complimented 
the  author.  It  was  the  beginning  of  a  friendship 
which  lasted  through  life. 

About  the  same  time  his  first  literary  effusion,  a 
paper  called  "  Ballads  and  Ballad  Singers,"  appeared 
in  the  Dublin  Literary  Gaxette.  It  was  followed  by 
"The  King  and  the  Bishop"  and  "The  Story  of  the 
Gridiron."  The  last  named  was  copied  all  over  the 
English-speaking  world  and  stamped  the  writer  as  a 
humourist  of  a  high  order. 

It  was  about  this  period  also  that  he  made  his  debut 
as  a  miniature  painter.  As  such  he  flourished  in  the 
Irish  capital  for  over  fifteen  years,  at  the  same  time 
increasing  his  high  popularity  and  keeping  the  wolf 
far  enough  from  the  door  to  permit  the  admission 
of  more  agreeable  and   profitable  visitors. 

Ireland,  thanks  to  its  poverty,  is  a  poor  patron  of 
the  arts,  but  its  children  have  always  shown  a  remark- 
able disposition  to  cultivate  them.  This  is  especially 
true  of  the  arts  of  sculpture  and  architecture,  wherein 
England  and  America  owe  so  much  to  Irish  genius. 
Its  poetry,  too,  since  the  days  of  the  Bards,  has  been 
great  in  quantity  and  not  unworthy  of  comparison  in 
quality  with  that  of  the  sister  island,  albeit  the  Irish 
poet  singing  in  English  uses  a  foreign  tongue. 

It  is  interesting  to  know  that  the  first  subjects  of 
Lover's  pencil  and  brush  were  marine  studies,  as  were 


Introduction  xi 

also  his  last ;  but  his  great  success  was  as  a  painter  of 
portraits,  especially  miniatures.  Among  his  sitters  in 
after  years  were  the  Marquis  of  Wellesley,  Lord 
Brougham,  the  Duke  of  Leicester,  and  the  great 
Paganini.  His  portrait  of  the  last  named  was  dis- 
tinctly his  best  and  won  him  high  honour  in  the 
English  capital. 

It  was  not  publicly  known  until  after  his  death  that 
he  had  achieved  success  anonymously  as  a  caricaturist 
in  the  pages  of  the  Irish  "  Horn  Book"  published  in 
the  year  1831.  His  connection  with  that  satirical 
pubUcation  was  kept  secret  for  political  and  personal 
reasons.  As  Mr.  D.  J.  O'Donoghue  points  out, 
Lover's  biographers  fail  to  mention  the  fact  that  he 
was  deeply  concerned  in  the  efforts  of  the  "  Comet 
Club,"  which  brought  out  "  The  Parson's  Horn 
Book,"  to  overthrow  the  infamous  tithe  system  under 
which  the  Catholics  of  Ireland  were  obliged  to  contri- 
bute to  the  support  of  the  Established  Church.  In 
this  righteous  crusade  he  had  as  associates  Thomas 
Brown  ("  Jonathan  Buckthorn  "),  Norreys  Jephson, 
John  Sheehan,  Robert  Knox,  John  Cornelius  O'Cal- 
laghan,  author  of  the  "  Green  Book "  and  of  the 
"  History  of  the  Irish  Brigades  in  the  Service  of 
France,"  Joseph  Sterling  Coyne,  one  of  the  found- 
ers of  Punchy  and  many  others.  The  Government  at 
last  suppressed  the  publication  and  prosecuted  and 
punished  the  editors.  The  tithes  were  not  abolished 
until  a  generation  afterwards.  Lover's  skill  as  an 
etcher  was  shown  in  his  "  Horn  Book  "  pictures  and, 
still  better,  in  the  numerous  admirable  drawings  with 
which  he  illustrated  his  own  books  and  those  of  other 


xii  Introduction 

writers.  The  best  of  them  are  reproduced  in  the 
present  edition  of  his  works.  It  was  a  severe  blow 
to  the  ambition  which  was  his  first  love  when  his 
failing  eyesight  compelled  him  to  abandon  both  etching 
and  miniature  painting  in  the  very  prime  of  life  and 
success.  He  had  won  distinction  in  other  and  wider 
fields,  in  which  also  the  rewards  were  larger,  but  he 
loved  that  art  best  of  all  and  felt  its  loss  most  sadly. 

The  year  1827  found  him  well  established  in  life. 
His  first  play  —  not  counting  the  dramatic  work 
which  his  stern  father,  in  the  capacity  of  a  domestic 
Lord  High  Chancellor,  had  suppressed  with  a  poker 
—  was  brought  out  at  the  Theatre  Royal.  It  was  a 
fairy  spectacle  called  "  Grania  Uaile,"  and  had  a  run 
of  several  nights.  Unfortunately,  no  trace  of  the 
manuscript  survives. 

In  this  happy  year  he  married  Lucy  Berrel,  the 
daughter  of  John  Berrel,  a  Dublin  architect,  and  his 
wife  Mary,  nee  Harney.  In  the  following  year  he 
was  elected  Secretary  of  the  Royal  Hibernian  Acad- 
emy of  which  he  had  long  been  a  popular  member. 

His  first  volume,  a  collection  of  tales  and  legends 
which  had  appeared  in  the  Dublin  magazines,  was 
published  in  1832.  His  portrait  of  Paganini,  exhib- 
ited at  the  Royal  Academy  Exhibition,  made  the 
painter  better  known  than  the  poet  or  story-teller,  in 
the  English  capital.  Thither  he  went  accordingly  in 
the  following  year,  not  to  repeat  the  disastrous  failure 
which  he  had  made  there  so  many  years  before  in  the 
worthy  field  of  commerce. 

For  a  dozen  happy,  busy  years  he  did  the  work 
that  he  loved,  and  gained  the  rewards  that  he  deserved. 


Introduction 


Xlll 


in  the  intellectual  centre  of  Great  Britain.  He  was 
a  prolific  writer  of  exquisite  little  theatrical  trifles, 
many  of  which  he  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  preserve 
even  in  manuscript.  Thus,  in  1835,  he  wrote  for 
Madam  Vestris  a  Christmas  drama  called  "  The 
Olympic  Picnic,"  a  classical  burlesque,  and  for  the 
comedian  Liston  a  Uttle  piece  called  "  The  Beau 
Ideal,"  and  in  1837,  for  the  Haymarket  Theatre,  his 
farce  of  "  The  Happy  Man "  (a  subject  which  Sir 
Walter  Scott  has  also  treated  in  verse).  In  the  same 
year  Madam  Vestris  presented  his  operetta  of  "  The 
Greek  Bov  "  at  Covent  Garden,  and  the  composer 
Balfe  brought  out  his  humorous  "  II  Paddy  Whack  in 
Italia,"  at  the  Lyceum.  Two  other  short  pieces, 
"The  Hall  Porter"  and  "  Macarthy  More,"  com- 
pleted his  work  in  that  direction.  Some  vears  later 
he  wrote  what  his  biographer  calls  "  a  musical  piece  " 
for  the  Haymarket,  entitled  "  The  Sentinel  of  the 
Alma." 

Of  his  more  enduring  dramas  "  Ror\-  O'AIore  " 
had  a  long  run  of  one  hundred  and  nine  nights  at  the 
Adelphi  Theatre  in  1837,  with  the  brilliant  actor, 
Tyrone  Power,  as  the  hero,  and  was  plaved  through- 
out the  country  and  America.  "  The  White  Horse 
of  the  Peppers  "  was  another  dramatic  success. 

He  enjoved  in  London  the  society  and  friendship 
of  the  brilliant  group  of  authors  and  artists  who 
flourished  in  the  early  Victorian  age  :  Sydney  Smith, 
Dickens,  Douglas  Jerrold,  Barham,  Moore,  Lever, 
William  Carleton,  "  Father  Prout,"  Maginn,  Lady 
Morgan,  and  a  multitude  of  greater  or  lesser  lights, 
some  long  since  extinguished,  others  still  dimly  glim- 


xiv  Introduction 

mering  on  the  horizon,  and  a  few  translated  among 
the  planetary  gods,  to  shine  forever  —  which  means  for 
one,  possibly  two,  perhaps  even  three  centuries  of  glory. 

When  his  failing  eyesight  debarred  him  from  con- 
tinued work  with  pen,  pencil,  or  etching-tool,  he 
began  presenting  his  public  entertainments,  consisting 
of  songs  and  readings  from  his  own  works.  He 
made  his  d'ehut  at  the  Princess  Theatre,  London,  in 
March,  1844,  and  achieved  an  immediate  success 
which  followed  him  during  seven  years,  in  the  prin- 
cipal cities  and  towns  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland  and 
the  United  States.  He  was  not  the  pioneer  in  this 
form  of  entertainment  but  was  one  of  the  most  pop- 
ular of  his  own  or  later  times. 

His  sweet  voice  was  not  strong  enough  to  bear  the 
strain  of  all  the  vocal  numbers ;  so  he  employed  two 
young  ladies  as  assistants  for  that  duty,  devoting  him- 
self solely  to  the  prose  features.  Modern  audiences 
are  familiar  with  this  form  of  entertainment,  which 
has  become  so  common  that  authors  of  distinction  add 
a  new  wreath  to  their  laurels,  and  win  much  gratitude 
besides,  by  refraining  from  public  readings  from  their 
own  works.  In  Lover's  time  and  for  many  years 
afterwards,  the  entertainment  was  kept  within  the 
bounds  of  modesty,  and  people  came  at  least  as  much 
to  hear  as  to  see  the  author.  The  custom  has  since 
been  changed,  and  not  for  the  better.  He  also  fol- 
lowed the  example  of  his  contemporaries  by  paying  a 
visit  to  the  United  States,  but  apparently  without  any 
ulterior  thought  of  writing  a  book,  and  certainly  with 
no  intention  of  taking  the  elder  Mr.  Weller's  advice 
and  "  blowing  up  the  Yankees  "  therein. 


Introduction  xv 

He  landed  in  Boston  in  September,  1846,  and 
gave  his  first  entertainment  in  New  York  on  the  28th 
of  the  same  month.  He  found  his  audiences  there 
cordially  appreciative.  In  Boston  and  Salem,  which 
he  visited  later,  the  appreciation  was  equally  present 
but  concealed  behind  a  blanket  of  frigidity  which  sur- 
prised the  cheery  entertainer.  Of  the  Salemites  he 
wrote  :  "  Frogs,  snowballs,  icicles  —  no  name  for 
coldness  can  describe  them."  Other  distinguished 
visitors  have  been  chilled  by  the  same  peculiar  tem- 
perature observed  in  the  intellectual  centres  of  New 
England  and  have  tried  to  understand  the  phenomenon, 
some  ascribing  it  to  pride,  some  to  provincialism,  and 
a  few  to  bashfulness,  though  this  last  trait  is  not 
characteristic  of  the  inhabitants  indi\idually.  Lo\er, 
like  the  rest  of  the  trans- Atlantic  visitors,  made  many 
warm  friends  in  New  England  and  wherever  he  went 
in  the  country. 

He  travelled  as  far  south  as  New  Orleans,  north  to 
the  Canadian  cities,  and  west  to  Lake  Superior, 
spending  two  years  in  giving  entertainments  or  enjoy- 
ing; the  novel  life  around  him. 

It  was  a  sad  blow  to  him  to  receive  in  a  foreign 
land  the  news  of  his  wife's  death,  after  a  brief  married 
life  of  unalloyed  happiness.  Fresh  grief  awaited  him 
on  his  return  home  when  his  eldest  daughter  died  of 
consumption  in  her  twentv-first  year.  His  younger 
daughter  had  married  shortly  before.  Tenderly  de- 
voted  to  home  and  family  he  found  himself  practically 
deprived  of  both.  In  January-  of  1852  he  married 
his  second  wife,  Mar\'  Jane  Wandby,  daughter  of 
William  Wandby,  of  Coldham  Hall,  Cambridgeshire, 


XVI 


Introduction 


England.  Their  married  life  was  very  happy,  though 
only  two  children  lived  to  maturity.  Two  girls  and 
a  boy  died  in  early  childhood.  Another  daughter, 
Meta,  died  at  the  age  of  twenty-two.  His  only  sur- 
viving child,  Fannie,  married  first  a  Dublin  barrister, 
Edward  Herbert,  and  second  a  physician  of  Stuttgart, 
Dr.  Carl  Schmid.  The  only  living  descendants  of 
Samuel  Lover  are  this  lady,  her  son,  Victor  Herbert, 
the  distinguished  composer,  and  her  son  by  the  second 
marriage,  a  German  actor,  whose  stage  name  is  Willie 
Faber. 

Lover  brought  home  from  America  some  material 
for  his  entertainments  and  many  art  sketches,  some 
of  which  he  reproduced  in  oil  with  more  or  less  suc- 
cess. His  labours  had  entitled  him  to  a  season  of  rest 
which  the  income  from  his  works  procured  for  him. 
To  this  was  added,  in  1856,  a  government  pension 
of  one  hundred  pounds.  It  was  small,  yet  it  may 
not  be  sneered  at  in  a  republic  which  has  totally  for- 
sworn its  early  virtue  of  giving  some  public  reward  to 
literature,  usually  a  foreign  consulship  which  at  least 
kept  the  recipient  and  his  poverty  out  of  sight. 

During  the  next  few  years  Lover  was  engaged  in 
general  literary  work,  compiling  a  volume  of  Irish 
songs  by  different  authors,  and  in  writing  for  the 
Burns  Centennial  Festival  a  little  volume  called 
"  Rival  Rhymes,"  after  the  style  of  "  Rejected  Ad- 
dresses." 

In  1864  he  was  attacked  with  bleeding  of  the 
lungs.  It  was  the  beginning  of  the  end,  though  that 
was  not  to  come  until  after  four  years  of  lingering 
illness,  borne  with  fine  fortitude.       He    removed  in 


Introduction 


XVI 1 


search  of  a  milder  climate  to  the  Isle  of  Wight  and 
thence  to  St.  Helier's  in  the  Island  of  Jersey,  his  last 
abode.  There  he  died  on  July  6,  1868,  aged  seventy- 
one  years.  On  July  15th  his  body  was  buried  at 
Kensal  Green.  A  tablet  was  erected  to  his  memory 
in  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral,  Dublin. 

How  bravely  after  the  long  siege  he  at  last  faced 
the  end  like  his  own  Irish  Soldier,  "  with  the  fire  of 
his  gallant  nation,"  smiling  to  the  last,  yet  deeply  sen- 
sible of  all  the  responsibilities  of  his  earthly  career ! 
His  eyesight  had  long  been  weak,  and  four  months 
before  his  death  his  hearing  partially  failed  him.  As 
he  wrote  to  a  friend  :  — 

"  My  hearing  has  suffered  seriously  ;  just  now  I 
am  obliged  to  have  the  assistance  of  an  ear  trumpet. 
Think  of  that,  my  beauty  !  —  There  's  a  state  for  your 
old  Lover  to  be  in  !  —  No  more  tender  whisperings  ! 
Imagine  sweet  confessions  to  be  made  through  an  ear 
trumpet !  How  many  dear  friends  I  have  lost  lately  ! 
Your  own  dear  father  among  them.  The  shot  is  flying 
thick  and  fast  among  the  front  companies;  it  makes 
one  think  of  that  fine  couplet  of  Longfellow's  :  — 

*<  ♦  Hearts,  like  muffled  drums,  are  beating 
Funeral  marches  to  the  grave.' 

"  Well,  though  I  have  written  a  few  sad  lines  In  the 
end  of  this  letter,  you  may  see  by  the  first  part  of  it 
that  I  am  not  down-hearted,  and,  though  I  am 
amongst  the  c'l-devants  —  that  is,  one  of  the  front 
company  —  still  I  march  cheerfully  and  cry,  '•  Heads 
up,  soldiers  ! '  " 

After  the  poet's  death  Mrs.  Lover  sent  Kis  last  writ- 
VOL.  \.—b 


XVI 11 


Introduction 


in<y  to  their  friend  Symington.  It  described  a  dream 
which  he  had  on  the  night  of  May  21,  1868,  a  few 
weeks  before  his  death  :  — 

"  I  thought  I  had  entered  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow. 
It  was  a  deep  gorge  and  narrow,  and  high  cliffs  on 
either  hand  rendered  it  also  dark  and  shadowy,  and 
as  the  valley  lay  before  me,  further  in  advance,  still 
deeper  and  darker  it  grew,  till,  in  the  extreme  dis- 
tance, all  form  was  lost,  and  nothing  but  intense 
darkness  prevailed. 

"  Just  then,  relieved  upon  that  background  of 
gloom,  suddenly  I  saw  Jesus  Christ,  in  wondrous 
radiance,  surrounded  by  sheep. 

"  I  woke  the  moment  my  senses  were  impressed 
with  this  lovely,  glorious,  faith-inspiring  vision  ;  and 
oh  !  what  a  comfort  it  was  to  me  thus  to  wake  ! 
My  hodlly  suffering,  even,  was  relieved,  when  my  poor 
soul  was  thus  strengthened. 

"  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  my  prayer,  made  that  night, 
had  been  heard  and  granted  by  my  merciful  and  gra- 
cious God,  and  that  I  need  not  fear  the  Valley  of  the 
Shadow  of  Death,  where  Christ  Himself  was  waiting 
to  care  for  the  sheep." 

On  his  death-bed  he  wrote  a  thoughtful  criticism 
on  the  anonymous  versifiers  of  the  Psalms  and  writers 
of  hymns  who  are  guilty  of  "filling  up  their  lame 
lines  with  vapid  verbiage,  so  twaddly,  indeed,  as  to  be, 
to  me,  disgusting,  from  the  manifest  disrespect  such 
writers  must  have  for  the  sacredness  of  the  subject." 

A  very  interesting  revelation  of  character  is  the 
letter  to  his  two  daughters,  dated  March  8,  1848, 
enclosing  a  copy  of  a  poem  to  them  entitled  "  The 


Int7'oductio7i 


XIX 


Voice  from  Afar."  He  presents  it  to  them  with  a 
modest  introduction,  and  then  discusses  the  failure  of 
another  poem  of  his  to  impress  them  verj'  deeply. 
But  he  adds  :  "  You  know  it  is  mv  opinion,  and  an 
opinion  on  which  I  have  acted,  that  I  do  not  think  it 
wise  for  parents  to  drive  their  children  in  the  beaten 
track  of  their  own  thoughts  (the  parents'  thoughts,  I 
mean) ;  and  you  will  remember  how  I  have  placed 
Mendelssohn  and  Schubert,  and  the  pretty  vivacities 
of  France  and  Italy,  before  you,  to  the  exclusion  of 
my  own  compositions,  which  I  never  forced  upon  vou, 
—  but,  at  the  same  time,  whenever  I  do  write  a  sons; 
which  the  world  acknowledges  to  be  not  worthless,  a 
daughter  can  scarcely  place  herself  in  a  more  graceful 
position  than  in  singing  a  song  of  her  father's  compos- 
ing. Sir  Walter  Scott's  son  did  himself  little  honour 
when  he  boasted  of  never  having  read  his  father's 
works  :  —  but  do  not  suppose,  m.v  dear  girls,  that  I 
am  vain  enough  (presumptuous,  I  should  rather  say) 
to  make  any  comparison  between  mvself  and  the 
great  man  to  whom  I  have  alluded,  or  so  unhappy  as 
to  believe  that  vou  are  so  cold  and  insensible  to  my 
humbler  merits." 

No  man  was  ever  more  generously  appreciative  of 
his  contemporaries  than  Lover.  Symington,  who  set 
him  on  a  higher  pedestal  than  Moore  and  wrote  to 
the  former  to  tell  him  so,  gives  the  reply,  most  credit- 
able to  the  modesty  and  generosity  of  the  writer  :  — 
"  For  the  very  favourable,  not  to  say  flattering  opinion 
you  have  given  as  to  the  comparative  merits  of  Moore 
and  mvself,  I  have  reason  to  be  pleased.  ...  I  think 
there  is  more  of  the  '  touch  of  nature  '  —  that  quality 


XX  Introduction 

to  which  Shakespeare  attributes  so  much  —  in  my 
writings  than  in  his.  I  think  also  there  is  more  feel- 
ing, and  beyond  all  doubt  I  am  much  more  Irhh :  so 
far  I  agree  with  you."  After  saying  pleasantly  that 
Moore  knew  more  about  "  the  shady  side  of  Pall 
Mall "  than  of  the  morning  breeze  that  stirs  the 
heather  on  the  hills  of  Ireland  or  the  nightly  blast 
that  sweeps  the  Atlantic  and  often  sings  a  death-song 
over  the  fishermen,  he  continues :  "  Yet,  with  all 
these  drawbacks  to  the  Irish  Melodies^  what  an  exquisite 
collection  of  lyrics  exists  in  that  work  !  Moore  was 
keenly  alive  to  the  character  of  a  melody  —  hence, 
from  those  of  his  own  land,  which  are  so  lovely,  he 
selected  judiciously  the  air  suited  to  the  spirit  of  his 
lay.  Then,  as  the  verses  he  wrote  were  meant  to  be 
sung  (not  merely  read),  with  what  consummate  skill 
he  has  accommodated  every  word  to  be  capable  of 
the  '  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out ! '  —  in  this 
respect  I  think  Moore  matchless." 


HIS    PLACE    AMONG    IRISH    NOVELISTS 

Bayle  Bernard  devotes  two  thoughtful  chapters  in 
his  Life  of  Lover  to  the  numerous  and  excellent 
writers  who  had  preceded  his  subject  in  the  poorly 
paid  and  tardily  appreciated  field  of  Irish  fiction.  It 
is  a  list  of  which  no  country  need  be  ashamed,  in- 
cluding such  names  as  Banim,  Griffin,  Miss  Edge- 
worth,  Lady  Morgan,  Carleton,  Lever,  —  authors 
widely  differing  in  ability  as  they  did  in  sentiment, 
yet  nearly  all  holding  an  honourable  place  in  literature 
after  the  lapse  of  sixty,  seventy,  or  even  a  hundred 


Introduction  xxi 

years.  It  was  the  human  quality  that  gave  life  to 
their  writings  at  a  time  when  the  vast  majority  of  the 
people  were  steeped  in  the  direst  poverty,  when  the 
artificial  night  created  by  the  penal  laws  still  wrapped 
the  land  in  enforced  illiteracy,  and  when  it  was 
neither  fashionable  nor  profitable  to  plead  the  cause 
of  the  oppressed.  In  so  far  as  those  gifted  Irish 
men  and  women  did  plead  for  their  less  fortunate 
countrymen,  in  so  far  did  they  compel  a  hearing  from 
a  callous  or  hostile  public.  It  was  but  natural  that 
the  Catholic  writers  should  champion  their  co- 
religionists, and  that  they  did  it  worthily  and  bril- 
liantly, the  enduring  fame  of  Gerald  Griffin  and  the 
Banim  brothers  sufficiently  attests.  Lover,  born  and 
living  in  the  class  and  creed  of  ascendancy,  generously 
espoused  the  cause  of  the  poor  and  misgoverned. 

He  was  listened  to,  not  because  of  the  justice  of 
his  plea,  for  far  greater  voices  than  his  had  cried  in 
vain  for  years  on  behalf  of  the  down-trodden,  but 
because  he  invested  his  subjects  with  the  charms  of 
humour,  pathos,  and  sincerity.  The  world,  which 
turns  a  deaf  ear  to  the  cry  of  suffering,  always  stops 
to  be  amused,  sometimes  becomes  interested,  and  on 
very  rare  occasions  tries  to  right  some  fraction  of  a 
wrong.  I  do  not  know  that  Irish  tears  or  Irish 
laughter  ever  obtained  any  valuable  redress  of  Irish 
grievances ;  but  they  kept  them  before  the  world,  and 
thus  were  not  without  their  value  when  stronger 
arguments  than  smiles  or  tears  could  not  be  em- 
ployed. Dives  went  to  hell  because  he  looked  un- 
moved upon  the  sores  of  Lazarus.  It  is  not  good  for 
a  man  or  a  nation  to  stifle  elementary  feelings. 


XXI 1 


Introduction 


Before  the  rise  of  the  school  of  Irish  novelists, 
early  in  the  nineteenth  century,  the  Irishman  of 
English  fiction  and  the  stage  was  an  uncouth  libel  on 
humanity,  a  witless  baboon  who  excited  nothing  but 
ridicule  or  aversion.  He  was  somewhat  in  that 
respect  like  the  "  Nigger  "  of  stage  and  fiction,  and 
therefore  outside  the  pale  of  human  sympathy.  It 
mattered  not  that  the  Irishman  of  real  life  was  pres- 
ent in  the  scantily  covered  flesh  ;  that  he  was  known 
of  all  mankind  to  be  witty,  brave,  chivalrous,  and 
God-fearing.  Until  Lover  and  kindred  writers  de- 
picted him  as  such,  the  English-speaking  world  under- 
stood him  not  nor  the  debt  which  its  literature  owed 
to  his  countrymen,  Burke,  Sheridan,  Swift,  Steele, 
Goldsmith,  and  half  the  bright  names  in  contem- 
porary letters. 

Lover  cannot  be  counted  among  the  great  creators 
in  the  art  of  fiction.  He  developed  no  deep  plots, 
made  no  subtle  analyses  of  character,  solved  no 
social  "  problems,"  and,  indeed,  pictured  life  mostly 
as  it  was  to  be  seen  on  the  surface.  His  characters 
and  their  accessories  hint  of  the  stage,  elemental, 
largely  drawn,  devoid,  for  the  most  part,  of  mingled 
or  conflicting  passions.  Yet  they  are  fixed  in  the 
reader's  mind,  and  each  has  an  individuality  not  to  be 
ignored  or  forgotten.  It  is  a  remarkable  fact  that 
Dickens  has  not  introduced  a  single  Irish  character 
in  all  of  his  voluminous  novels ;  yet  those  traits 
which  in  an  Irishman  would  be  pronounced  "so  very 
Irish"  are  the  dominant  inspiration  of  Mr.  Micaw- 
ber,  Dick  Swiveller,  and  a  score  of  other  immortal 
creations   of  "  Boz."     "  Handy   Andy  "    is   Lover's 


Introduction  xxiii 

own,  vet  he  has  all  the  fantastic  features  of  a  genuine 
child  of  Dickens,  with  a  remote  cousinship  to  Sancho 
Panza.  He  might  have  been  born  anywhere,  but 
Ireland  alone  of  his  own  time  could  have  supplied  the 
mhe  en  scene  for  his  astounding  performances.  Lover 
gives  his  authority  for  the  original,  but  beyond  ques- 
tion he  assisted  nature  in  his  development.  Dr.  R. 
Shelton  Mackenzie,  who  was  a  personal  friend  of 
Lover,  savs  that  Handy  Andy  was  the  nickname  of 
a  real  personage  whose  proper  name  was  Andrew 
Sullivan.  Fourteen  years  before  Lover  introduced 
Andy  to  the  public,  the  Knight  of  Glin  told  Macken- 
zie many  stories  about  Andy,  among  others  that  nar- 
rated in  the  novel,  of  the  hero's  being  ordered  to 
throw  a  pitcher  of  water  out  of  the  window  and  obey- 
ing literally  by  throwing  out  pitcher  and  all ;  and  of 
how  he  iced  the  champagne  by  emptying  two  dozen 
bottles  into  the  tub  of  ice. 

HIS    NOVELS 

Handy  Andy  is  unique  in  literature,  as  a  hero  with 
a  matchless  genius  for  blundering  and  a  happy  faculty 
for  escaping  the  worst  consequences  of  his  own  mis- 
takes ;  which  an  Englishman  would  have  accounted 
for  by  the  proverb,  "  Fools  for  luck  !  "  But  the  Irish 
language  has  no  exact  equivalent  for  the  harsh  mono- 
syllable ;  for  "  omadhaun  "  is  a  mild,  soft  word  sig- 
nifying an  "  innocent  "  or  a  "  natural."  Call  him 
by  whatever  name  we  may,  Andy  is  a  triumph  of 
misdirected  originality,  even  as  dirt  has  been  defined 
as  matter  out  of  place.     Andy's  premises  are  always 


xxiv  Tntroduction 

right,  as  when  he  resolves  to  punish  the  postmaster 
for  his  apparent  extortion  in  charging  double  postage 
on  a  letter,  by  stealing  two  others,  so  as  to  give  his 
master  "  the  worth  of  his  money."  With  similar 
good  motives  he  slips  an  additional  bullet  into  the 
duelling  pistols  before  they  are  loaded,  in  order,  again, 
that  "  the  Masther "  may  have  the  advantage  over 
his  opponent.  He  is  the  very  incarnation  of  good 
intentions,  which,  as  we  all  know,  have  their  Maca- 
damical  uses  in  another  world.  His  more  com- 
monplace blunders,  such  as  the  exchanging  and 
mis-sending  of  parcels,  display  no  especial  inspiration. 
They  are  within  the  capacity  of  any  mere  fool ; 
Andy  alone  is  the  diaholus  ex  machina  who  could  do 
it  at  the  exact  time  and  place  calculated  to  produce 
the  greatest  possible  amount  of  mischief.  No,  Andy 
is  not  a  fool.  That  role  belongs  to  the  denationa- 
lised Dublin  puppy.  Furlong,  whose  faux  pas  are 
unrelieved  by  the  slightest  touch  of  originality. 

Among  the  other  strong  characters  in  "  Handy 
Andy,"  old  Squire  O'Grady  and  his  rival,  Egan, 
stand  out  boldly  as  representatives  of  their  class, 
though  diametrically  opposite  to  each  other  in  char- 
acter. Murtough  Murphy,  Dick  the  Devil,  and  Tom 
Durfy  play  well  their  several  parts,  being  ably  sup- 
ported by  a  corps  of  supernumeraries  who  cheerfully 
and  impartially  assist  at  race,  duel,  election,  or  scrim- 
mage. The  Walking  Gentleman  of  the  story,  Ed- 
ward O'Connor,  is  like  his  prototype  on  the  stage, 
or  the  corresponding  character  in  "  Rory  O'More," 
chiefly  useful  to  fill  the  part  of  the  sentimental  lover 
of  his  affinity,  the  sentimental  young  lady.     Needless 


Introduction  xxv 

to  say  that  they  seldom  utter  anything  of  interest 
except  to  themselves,  therein  being  even  as  their 
models  in  real  life.  All  the  world  loves  a  lover,  but 
it  is  not  madly  covetous  of  his  society  vi^hile  the  fit  is 
on  him.  The  droll  or  humorous  remarks  which  our 
author  puts  into  the  mouths  of  his  characters  are  all  so 
naively  delivered  that  one  forgets  that  they  are  generally 
coinage  bright  from  the  mint  of  imagination.  For 
example,  there  is  the  Widow  Flanagan's  exhortation 
to  the  merry-makers :  "  Come,  begin  the  dance ; 
there  's  the  piper  and  the  fiddler  in  the  corner,  as  idle 
as  a  milestone  without  a  number ;  "  and  there  is  the 
stinging  phrase  so  casually  dropped  apparently,  when, 
speaking  of  the  tottering  Dublin  tenements,  each 
marked  with  an  official  slab  telling  its  exact  dis- 
tance from  the  Castle,  he  says  :  "  The  new  stone 
tablets  seemed  to  mock  their  misery,  and  looked  like 
a  fresh  stab  into  their  poor  old  sides  ;  —  as  if  the 
rapier  of  a  king  had  killed  a  beggar."  But  the  reader 
will  prefer  to  select  his  gems  without  impertinent 
assistance. 

Andy's  mother,  though  slightly  sketched,  is  drawn 
from  the  life,  as  witness  her  two  memorable  visits 
to  the  Amazonian  Mattie  Dwyer  and  the  results 
thereof;  while  the  mother  of  The  O'Grady  is  a 
lunatic  of  such  majestic  perfection  that  we  know  she 
must  have  sat  in  proper  person  for  the  vivid  portrait. 
Mere  imagination  never  invents  such  flights  as  hers. 
Father  Phil  Blake  is  one  of  Lover's  many  attempts  to 
draw  an  Irish  priest.  If  he  sometimes  fails  in  fidelity 
to  life,  it  is  not  through  lack  of  the  kindliest  intent;  for 
no  Irish  Protestant  writer  ever  felt  or  expressed  more 


xxvi  Introduction 

mdignation  towards  the  persecutions  heaped  upon 
those  faithful  leaders  of  their  flocks,  standing  alone, 
as  they  did,  between  the  forlorn  serf  and  a  master 
whose  cruelty  was  equalled  only  by  his  besotted  folly. 
But  for  the  priest  ministering,  with  a  price  on  his 
head,  to  his  scattered  people,  rebellion  or  anarchy 
would  have  deluged  the  land  with  blood.  None  knew 
this  better  than  Lover.  It  is  not  out  of  place  to 
recall  the  fact  in  any  allusion  to  his  life-work ;  for 
his  life  was  indeed  devoted  to  the  championship  of 
his  poor  countrymen  and  especially  of  those  who  dif- 
fered from  him  in  creed  and  station.  ^'  Rulers  of 
Ireland  !  "  he  exclaims,  "  why  have  you  not  sooner 
learned  to  lead  that  people  by  love  whom  all  your 
severity  has  not  been  able  to  drive  ?  " 

This  feeling  of  intense  patriotism  finds  most  fre- 
quent and  vigorous  expression  in  his  last  novel, 
"  Treasure  Trove,"  otherwise  known  as  "  L.  S.  D." 
or  "  He  Would  Be  A  Gentleman,"  in  which  he  deals 
with  some  of  the  loyal  Irish  who  followed  the  for- 
tunes of  Bonnie  Prince  Charlie,  to  their  own  misfor- 
tune. The  Irish,  like  the  Scotch,  paid  dearly  for 
their  fealty  to  a  line  of  princes  who  exemplified  the 
divine  right  of  monarchs  in  their  contempt  for  every 
common  right  and  an  ingratitude  that  was  royally 
superhuman.  Captain  Lynch  is  a  typical  Jacobite 
soldier,  loyal,  brave,  ready  to  make  every  honourable 
sacrifice,  even  to  that  of  life,  for  a  prince  who  was 
equally  ready  to  accept,  and  forget  it.  It  was  such 
men  who  cried  out  after  the  disaster  of  the  Boyne 
Water :  "  Change  kings,  and  we  '11  fight  the  battle 
over  again !  "  and  such  men  who  saved  the  day    for 


Introduction 


XXVll 


France  at  Fontenoy  and  made  King  George  exclaim 
in  bitterness  :  "  Curse  on  the  laws  that  deprive  me  of 
such  soldiers  !  "  Lover,  who  had  nothing  to  gain, 
and  much  to  lose,  in  a  worldly  sense,  bv  taking  the 
part  of  his  oppressed  fellow-countrj-men,  hated  tvrannv 
of  every  kind  and  could  not  be  silent  when  the 
wrongs  of  his  native  land  were  his  theme.  Not  alone 
the  wickedness  of  persecution,  but  the  incredible  folly 
of  it,  were  clear  to  his  honest  vision  ;  and  he  shows 
the  other  side  of  the  picture  convincinglv,  —  the 
peace,  lovalty,  and  contentment  which  followed  so 
surely  on  the  least  concession  of  justice  under  an 
occasional  just  ruler  like  Chesterfield  or  Drummond. 
When  intolerable  tyranny  drove  the  nation  into  des- 
perate revolt,  he  says,  "  England  would  not  admit  that 
she  had  cause  for  discontent.  The  phrase  of  the 
time  was,  that  '  the  discontent  on  the  face  of  Ireland 
was  coloured  by  caprice  and  faction.'  How  capri- 
cious! "  The  reader  who  wishes  to  form  a  just  idea 
of  that  capricious  country  will  find  some  of  the 
impelling  causes  in  "  Treasure  Trove." 

For  the  rest,  the  storv  is  full  of  life  and  adventure, 
with  well-drawn  pictures  of  Marshal  Saxe,  Lord 
Clare,  Dillon,  and  other  historical  personages.  Ned 
Corkery,  the  hero  of  the  tale,  is  a  much  more  inter- 
esting character  than  either  De  Lacv,  of  "  Rory 
O'More,"  or  Edward  O'Connor,  of  "  Handy  Andy." 
His  lady  love,  like  theirs,  is  rather  a  lay  figure.  The 
story  abounds  in  sufficiently  moving  adventures  by 
flood  and  field ;  in  the  words  of  Phil  Kearney, 
"  There  *s  beautiful  fighting  along  the  whole  line." 
For  which,  and  better,  reasons,  Lover's  novels  should 


xxviii  Introduction 

find  a  new  popularity  in  the  present  revival  of 
"  strenuous  "  fiction,  whose  heroes,  to  tell  the  truth, 
are  a  trifle  too  solemn  in  making  either  love  or  war, 
and  lack  the  sense  of  humour  which  tends  to  lighten 
both  of  those  rather  over-rated  diversions. 

Lover's  novels  are  all  clean,  wholesome  works  of 
art,  plain  stories,  with  little  or  no  attempt  at  analysis 
of  character  or  inculcation  of  any  lesson  other  than 
that  to  be  deduced  from  a  picture  in  black  and  white. 
Their  predominant  quality  is  their  humour,  which  is 
seldom  strained,  always  laughter-provoking,  and  never 
cruel,  except  towards  snobbishness,  cant,  and  all  man- 
ner of  false  pretence.  In  that  and  in  their  keen  love 
of  justice,  they  reflect  the  gentle  manliness  of  their 
author. 

Lover  is  at  his  best  and  his  worst  in  his  very  un- 
equal short  stories.  In  the  former  category  stand  the 
inimitable  "  Barny  O'Reirdon,  the  Navigator,"  "  The 
Gridiron,"  "The  White  Horse  of  the  Peppers," 
*^  Paddy  the  Piper"  (of  which  he  disclaims  full  credit 
as  the  author),  and  several  delicious  sketches  of  Irish 
coachmen,  ballad-singers,  waiters,  and  other  original 
characters.  "  Father  Roach,"  whose  story  he  tells 
both  in  prose  and  verse,  is  an  impossible  character,  as 
the  dramatic  incident  upon  which  the  tale  hinges,  the 
involuntary  self-betrayal,  outside  of  the  confessional, 
of  a  criminal  who  had  already  confessed  his  crime 
under  that  inviolable  seal  could  not  have  been  used  by 
the  priest  who  was  his  confidant  in  both  cases.  The 
priest's  supposed  assertion  that  "  the  bishop  of  the 
diocese  forwarded  a  statement  to  a  higher  quarter, 
which  procured  for  me  a  dispensation  as  regarded  the 


Introduction  xxix 

confessions  of  the  criminal ;  and  I  was  handed  this 
instrument,  absolving  me  from  further  secrecy,  a  i^^^ 
days  before  the  trial "  —  is  contrary  to  all  the  laws 
and  traditions  of  the  Catholic  Church,  and  spoils  an 
otherwise  good  story. 

However,  the  single  tale  of  the  "  Gridiron,  or 
Paddy  Mullowney's  Travels  in  France,"  has  humour 
enough  to  redeem  a  whole  volume  of  inferior  stories. 
It  is  his  own  entirely,  in  conception  and  execution. 
The  extremely  simple  motif  is  sustained  throughout, 
and  Paddy  insists  upon  it  with  such  convincing  sin- 
ceritv  that  the  reader  is  compelled  to  agree  with  him 
that  the  Frenchmen  who  failed  to  lend  him  a  grid- 
iron, on  the  strength  of  his  three  magic  words, 
"  Parly  voo  Frongsay  r  "  were  not  only  ignorant  of 
their  own  language  but  shamefully  inhospitable  as 
well.  He  and  his  compatriot,  Barny  O'Reirdon,  are 
worthy  of  Rabelais. 

HIS    SONGS    AND    POEMS 

Simplicity  was  the  dominant  characteristic  of 
Lover's  verse.  He  chose  no  complex  themes,  and 
nobody  will  ever  achieve  fame  or  fortune  by  found- 
ing "  Lover  Clubs "  for  the  interpretation  of  his 
poems.  In  his  preface  to  a  volume  of  his  poetical 
works,  reproduced  in  this  edition,  he  demonstrates 
briefly  and  clearly  his  theory  of  song-writing  and 
explains  some  apparent  literary  defects  in  his  own 
work  by  showing  that  poetical  had  occasionally  to 
give  wav  to  musical  expression  when  the  first  object 
was  to  make  a  song  ;  and  that,  with  him,  was  always 
the  first  object. 


XXX  Introduction 

Among  the  songs,  numbering  nearly  three  hundred, 
in  that  collection  are  lyrics  of  love,  humour,  and 
pathos,  together  with  a  few  political  and  "  occa- 
sional." The  best  belong  to  the  first  three  classes. 
Those  of  the  others  are  fair  of  their  kind,  which 
is  not  a  very  high  kind,  being,  indeed,  no  better 
than  if  they  had  been  written  to  order  by  the 
average  Laureate. 

Even  the  reader  fairly  familiar  with  Irish  poetry 
is  surprised  to  find  how  many  songs  popular  to  this 
day  are  from  the  prolific  pen  of  Lover,  such  as  "  The 
Low-Back'd  Car,"  "Molly  Bawn,"  "The  Whis- 
tling Thief,"  "  "Barney  O'Hea,"  "The  Four- 
Leaved  Shamrock,"  and  nearly  a  score  of  others.  It 
is  not  unreasonable  to  infer  that  their  long  life 
proves  their  high  merit.  "  Rory  O'More,"  of 
course,  is  known  to  all  the  world,  and  the  beauti- 
ful songs,  "  The  Angel's  Whisper "  and  "  What 
Will  You  Do,  Love  ? "  bear  an  appeal  to  the 
human  affections  that  will  find  response  in  every 
heart. 

It  is  not  every  poet  who  can  blend  humour  and 
tenderness  so  exquisitely  that  neither  shall  suffer  by 
the  union.  The  absolute  delicacy  of  Lover's  humor- 
ous love  poems  is  unparalleled  in  this  or  any  other 
language.  Percy's  "  Reliques  "  reflect  the  coarseness 
of  their  age.  Burns  smirched  his  pages  with  Rabe- 
laisian grossness,  and  English  bards,  from  Chaucer  to 
Byron,  have  done  the  same.  Even  Moore  affected 
the  Anacreontic,  happily  with  little  success,  in  his 
youthful  flights.  Irish  writers  of  prose  and  verse 
are  almost  always  free  from  any  uncleanness.     Their 


Introduction  xxxi 

literature  is  as  pure  as  that  of  America.  Lover's 
wooer,  whether  it  be  Rory  O'More,  or  Barney,  or 
the  Dying  Soldier,  or  Lanty  Leary,  is  gay  as  only 
an  Irish  lover  can  be  —  the  only  one,  it  is  said  by 
his  rivals,  who  can  meet  a  woman's  wiles  with  a 
wit  as  nimble  as  her  own.  Lover  has  drawn  him 
to  the  life,  with  his  national  heritage  of  good  humour, 
so  much  more  precious  than  the  belauded  Hope  in 
Pandora's  box,  which  must  have  lost  a  good  deal  of 
its  saving  salt  by  association  with  gloomy  company  in 
that  ill-omened  casket. 

Lover's  preface  to  the  fifth  edition  of  his  poems 
points  out  that  "  every  song  in  this  collection  was 
not  only  made  for  singing,  but  has  been  sung."  He 
himself,  says  Symington,  had  a  voice  which  "  was 
slight,  but  powerful  in  its  effect,  from  being  very 
sweetly  modulated,  clearly  articulated,  expressive,  and 
true."  The  same  author  tells  of  how  Lover  was 
moved  by  his  own  music,  and  that  the  tears  trickled 
down  his  cheek  on  one  occasion  in  his  own  house 
as  he  sang  the  "  Angel's  Whisper  "  —  which  recalls 
a  story  showing  how  the  ludicrous  touches  elbows 
with  the  pathetic.  Authors  are  accustomed  to  re- 
ceiving compliments  that  are  not  always  compli- 
mentary ;  so  Lover  must  have  keenly  enjoyed  the 
admiration  which  Thalberg,  the  pianist,  expressed 
for  him  on  their  first  meeting,  as  the  author  of  "  Ze 
Angel's  Whistle." 

It  can  be  truly  said  of  Lover  that  he  lisped  in 
numbers.  When  he  was  so  small  that  he  had  to 
stand  upon  tiptoe  to  reach  the  piano  keys,  he  was 
found  trying  to  pick  out  the  notes  of  a  popular  tune. 


XXXll 


Introduction 


Bernard,  who  tells  the  story,  notes  the  coincidence 
that  the  tune  which  attracted  the  infant  musician 
was  Moore's  "Will  you  come  to  the  Bower?" 
Lover  made  his  first  public  appearance  singing  one 
of  his  own  songs  at  a  dinner  in  honour  of  Moore, 
and  his  first  success  as  an  artist  was  gained  by  his 
portrait  of  Moore's  son,  Russell. 

Lover,  unlike  most  writers,  knew  what  was  his 
own  best  work,  as  did  his  readers.  He  chose  the 
name  of  its  hero  with  doubly  fine  discrimination  : 
first,  as  that  of  a  national  idol,  him  of  the  battle-cry, 
"  For  God  and  Our  Lady  and  Rory  O'More,"  and 
secondly,  as  a  name  especially  musical.  The  long 
O,  beloved  of  singers,  with  the  liquid  consonants, 
R  and  M,  all  compact  of  melody,  made  "  Rory 
O'More  "  a  title  to  charm  at  once  the  eye  and  the 
ear.  That  it  fascinated  its  author  is  evident  from 
the  fact  that  he  gave  it  first  to  a  song,  then  to  a 
story,  and  finally  to  a  play.  In  the  song  it  will  be 
noticed  that  he  uses  the  surname  indifferently  to 
rhyme  with  "sure"  and  "before,"  and  it  is  used 
with  either  pronunciation  in  the  native  vernacular. 
Note,  on  the  other  hand,  how  well  the  name  "  Lanty 
Leary  "  fits  the  light-hearted  roguish  "  divil  "  who 
lilts  his  love  vows  to  the  willing  but  doubting  ear 
of  his  inamorata.  He  will  follow  her,  an'  she  wish 
it,  over  the  hills  and  far  away,  and  back  again  to 
house  and  land  at  her  bidding,  just  as  an  Irishman 
should ;  and  when  she  puts  the  final  love-test  to 
him,  if  he  will  follow  her  to  the  grave  ?  he  answers, 
just  as  an  Irishman  of  his  fun-loving  nature  would : 
" '  Fait,  I  won't,'  says    Lanty  Leary."     In  the  su- 


Introduction  xxxiii 

preme  moment  Lanty  would  probably  outdo  the  most 
melancholy  of  your  romantic  lovers ;  but  so  long 
as  it  is  only  an  imaginary  case,  he  sees  but  the 
fun  of  it,  and  so  laughs  and  wins,  where  another 
would  sigh  and  lose. 

Perhaps  the  happiest  blending  of  those  two  Irish 
characteristics  is  found  in  the  sad,  tender,  humorous, 
and  wholly  heart-stirring  ballad  of  "  The  Soldier," 
who  — 

"  Thought  of  kings  and  roj-al  quarrels, 

And  thought  of  glory,  without  a  smile  ; 
For  what  had  he  to  do  with  laurels  ? 

He  was  only  one  of  the  rank-and-file  !  " 

He  drinks  to  his  loved  one  and  consoles  himself 
with  the  reflection,  humorously  sincere  —  and  that 
is  very  Irish  —  that  she  "  won't  be  a  widow  —  for 
why? — Ah  !  you  would  never  have  me,  voumeen" 

He  drinks  again,  to  his  beloved  native  land  from 
which  he  dies  far  away.  Then,  at  last,  "  the  pride 
that  guarded  his  manly  eye"  breaks  down  with  the 
vision  of  "  heaven  and  home  and  his  true  love 
nigh,"- 

"  So  draining  his  little  cruiskeen. 
He  drank  to  his  cruel  colleen  ; 
To  the  Emerald  land  of  his  birth  — 
Then  lifeless  he  sank  to  the  earth, 
Brave  a  soldier  as  ever  was  seen!  " 

Ireland  may  have  poets  and  story-tellers  of  higher 
literary  rank  and  more  enduring  fame,  but  she  will 
never  have  one  more  true  and  tender  and  loyal  than 
Samuel  Lover. 

VOL.    l.  —  C 


CONTENTS 

Page 
Introduction v 

CHAPTER    I 

The  Cottage  of  Rory  O'More,  with  Scenery,  Machinery, 

Dresses  and  Decorations i 

CHAPTER    II 

Showing  how  a  Journey  may  be  performed  on  a  Grid- 
iron without  going  as  far  as  St.  Laurence    .      .      .      .      15 

CHAPTER    III 

A  Peep  into  Ireland  Forty  Years  ago.  —  Hints  for  charg- 
ing Juries.  —  Every  Landlord  his  own  Lawgiver.  — 
Pride  of  Birth.  —  A  Jocular  Prince  on  Foot,  and  a 
Popular  Peer  on  Horseback 34 

CHAPTER   IV 

Journey  continued.  —  Desultory  Coach  Conversation,  in 
which  the  Liberty  of  "The  Press"  is  discussed, 
and  the  Thistle  declared  to  be  not  Indigenous  to 
Ireland.  —  Arguments  and  Coaches  liable  to  break 
down.  — Hints  for  keeping  Hounds,  etc.,  etc.      .      .      48 


xxxvi  Contents 


CHAPTER  V 

Page 
Whisky  versus    Small-pox.  —  Ghibberish  versus    French. 

—  A   Secret    with   Two    Handles   to    it,  which    our 

Hero  and  his  Sister  lay  hold  of 66 

CHAPTER    VI 

In  which  a   Gentleman   writes    a   Letter   as    long    as    a 

Lady's 73 

CHAPTER    VII 
A  Man  of  Law  and  Physic 84 

CHAPTER    VIII 
"  Britannia  rules  the  Waves  " 99 

CHAPTER    IX 
The  Pretty  Girl  milking  her  Cow 1 1 1 

CHAPTER    X 

In  which  Rory  hears  and  sees  more  than  he  bargained 
for,  and  finds  in  the  Conclusion  the  Truth  of 
the  Proverb,  that  Providence  never  shuts  one  Door 
without  opening  another 123 

CHAPTER    XI 

Showing  that  One  Half  of  the  World  does  not  know 
how  the  Other  Half  lives ;  and  also,  that  Soft 
Words  can  bend  Hard  Iron,  though  they  do  not 
butter  Parsnips 146 


Contents  xxxvii 

CHAPTER   XII 

Page 
"In   the    Dark,    all   Cats   are    Grey."  —  Rory   becomes 

possessed  of  an  Important  Secret,  and  discloses  One 

in  Exchange 162 

CHAPTER    XIII 

In  which  Rot)'  remembers  the  Old  Saying  of  "  Put  that 

in  your  Pipe  and  smoke  it  " 175 

CHAPTER    XIV 

In  which  it  appears  that  One  Man's  Sin  may  prove  An- 
other Man's  Sah'ation 182 

CHAPTER    XV 
Being  a  Mixture  of  Romance  and  Reality 189 

CHAPTER    XVI 

An  "Irish"  Fair  with  only  "One"  Fight  in  it.  — De 
Welskein's  Metamorphoses.  —  Learned  Pigs.  — 
Roasted  Ducks. — Love  and  Murder,  etc.,  etc.      .      197 

CHAPTER    XVII 
A  Moonlight  Meeting  ;  with  One  too  Many    ....      225 

CHAPTER    XVIII 
Containing  a  Council  of  Love  and  a  Council  of  War     .      232 

CHAPTER    XIX 

Showing  that  Mothers  in  the  Country  contrive  to   marry 

their  Daughters,  the  same  as  Mothers  in  Town   .      .      238 


xxxviii  Contents 


CHAPTER   XX 

Page 
In  which  Rory  O'More  proves  himself  to  be  a  Man  of 

Letters 243 

CHAPTER    XXI 

In  which  Shan  Regan  and  Soldering  Solomon  give  a 
Touch  of  their  Quality,  and  Rory  undergoes  a 
Trial  of  Temper 253 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 

VOLUME    ONE 

"  Oh!  God  be  good  to  me,"  said  the  woman       .      Frontispiece 
Photogra'vured from  a  drawing  by  H.  L.  Richardson 

The  Schoolmaster  at  Home Vignette  on  Title 

Molly  and  the  Priest's  Dog Page     31 

Home "        65 

The  Tinker "      i57 

Breaking  it "233 

A   New   Cure  for  Popery "     250 

Etched  by  JV .  H.  W.  Bicknell  from  draivings  by  Samuel  Lo-ver 


RORY  O'MQRE 


CHAPTER    I 

THE    COTTAGE    OF    RORY    o'mORE,    WITH    SCENERY, 
MACHINERY,    DRESSES    AND    DECORATIONS 

IN  a  retired  district  of  the  South  of  Ireland,  near 
some  wild  hills  and  a  romantic  river,  a  small  by- 
road led  to  a  quiet  spot,  where,  at  the  end  of  a  little 
lane,  or  horeen^  which  was  sheltered  by  some  hazel- 
hedges,  stood  a  cottage  which  in  England  would  have 
been  considered  a  poor  habitation,  but  in  Ireland  was 
absolutely  comfortable,  when  contrasted  with  the 
wretched  hovels  that  most  of  her  peasantry  are 
doomed  to  dwell  in.  The  walls  were  only  built  of 
mud  —  but  then  the  door-way  and  such  windows  as 
the  cabin  had  were  formed  of  cut  stone,  as  was  the 
chimnev,  which  last  convenience  is  of  rare  occurrence 
in  Irish  cabins,  a  hole  in  the  roof  generally  serving 
instead.  The  windows  were  not  glazed,  it  is  true, 
but  we  must  not  expect  too  much  gentility  on  this 
point ;  and  though  the  light  may  not  be  let  in  as 
much  as  it  is  the  intention  of  such  openings  to  do,  yet 
if  the  wind  be  kept  out,  the  Irish  peasant  may  be 
thankful.  A  piece  of  board  —  or,  as  Pat  says,  a 
wooden  pane  of  glass  —  may  occupy  one  square, 
while  its  neighbour  may  be  brown  paper,  ornamented 
inside,  perhaps,  with  a  ballad  setting  forth  how 
vol..  I.  —  I 


2  Rory  O'More 

"  A  sailor  coorted  a  farmer's  daughther 

That  lived  convaynient  to  the  Isle  of  Man," 

or,  may  be,  with  a  print  of  Saint  Patrick  banishing 
the  sarpents  —  or  the  Virgin  Mary  in  flaring  colours, 
that  one  might  take  for 

"  The  king's  daughther  a  come  to  town, 
With  a  red  petticoat  and  a  green  gownd." 

But  though  the  windows  were  not  glazed,  and 
there  was  not  a  boarded  floor  in  the  house,  yet  it  was 
a  snug  cottage.  Its  earthen  floors  were  clean  and 
dry,  its  thatched  roof  was  sound  :  the  dresser  in  the 
principal  room  was  well  furnished  with  delf;  there 
were  two  or  three  chairs  and  a  good  many  three- 
legged  stools  —  a  spinning-wheel,  that  sure  sign  of 
peace  and  good  conduct  —  more  than  one  iron  pot  — 
more  than  one  bed,  and  one  of  those  four-posted,  with 
printed  calico  curtains  of  a  most  resplendent  pattern  : 
there  was  a  looking-glass,  too,  in  the  best  bed-room, 
with  only  one  corner  broken  off,  and  only  .three 
cracks  in  the  middle ;  and  that  further  damage  might 
not  be  done  to  this  most  valuable  piece  of  furniture 
—  most  valuable  I  say,  for  there  was  a  pretty  girl  in 
the  house  who  wanted  it  every  Sunday  morning  to  see 
that  her  bonnet  was  put  on  becomingly  before  she 
went  to  chapel;  —  that  no  further  damage  might  be 
done,  I  say,  this  inimitable  looking-glass  was  imbedded 
in  the  wall,  with  a  frame-work  of  mortar  round  it, 
tastefully  ornamented  with  cross-bars,  done  by  the 
adventurous  hand  of  Rory  O'More  himself,  who  had 
a  genius  for  handling  a  trowel.  This  came  to  him  by 
inheritance,  for  his  father  had  been  a  mason  ;  which 
accounts  for  the  cut-stone  door-way,  windows,  and 
chimney  of  the  cottage,  that  Rory's  father  had  built 
for  himself.  But  when  I  say  Rory  had  a  genius  for 
handling  a  trowel,  I  do  not  mean  to  say  he  followed 


Rory  O'More  3 

the  trade  of  his  father  —  he  did  not, —  it  was  a  gift 
of  nature  which  Ror)-  left  quite  unencumbered  by  any 
trammels  of  art ;  for  as  for  line  and  rule,  these  were 
beneath  Rory's  consideration  ;  this  the  setting  of  the 
o-lass  proved  —  for  there  was  no  attempt  at  either  the 
perpendicular,  the  horizontal,  or  the  plane ;  and  from 
the  last  being  wanting,  the  various  portions  of  the 
glass  presented  different  angles,  so  that  it  reflected  a 
very  distorted  image  of  every  object,  and  your  face, 
if  you  would  believe  the  glass,  was  as  crooked  as  a 
ram's  horn  —  which  I  take  to  be  the  best  of  all  com- 
parisons for  crookedness.  Mary  O'More,  however, 
though  as  innocent  a  girl  as  any  in  the  country,  did 
not  believe  that  her  face  was  very  crooked  :  it  was 
poor  Rorv  who  principally  suffered,  for  he  was  con- 
tinually giving  himself  most  uncharitable  gashes  in 
shavins,  which  Ror\^  attributed  to  the  razor,  when  in 
fact  it  was  the  glass  was  in  fault ;  for  when  he  fan- 
cied he  was  going  to  smooth  his  upper  lip,  the 
chances  were  that  he  was  making  an  assault  on  his 
nose,  or  cutting  a  slice  off  his  chin. 

But  this  glass  has  taken  up  a  great  deal  too  much 
time  —  which,  after  all,  is  not  uncommon:  when 
people  get  before  a  glass,  they  are  very  likely  to  lin- 
ger there  longer  than  they  ought. 

But  I  need  not  go  on  describing  any  more  about 
the  cottage,  —  nobody  wants  an  inventory  of  its  fur- 
niture, and  I  am  neither  an  auctioneer  nor  a  bailiff's 
keeper.  I  have  said  Rory's  father  was  a  mason. 
Now  his  mother  was  a  widow  —  argal  (as  the  grave- 
digger  hath  it),  his  father  was  dead.  Poor  O'More, 
after  laying  stones  all  his  life,  at  last  had  a  stone  laid 
over  him  ;  and  Rory,  with  filial  piety,  carved  a  cruci- 
fix upon  it,  surmounted  by  the  letters  I.  H.  S.  and 
underneath   this   inscription  :  — 

"  Pray  for  the  sowl  of  Rory  O'More ;  Requiescat 
in  pace." 


Rory  O'More 


This  inscription  was  Rory's  first  effort  in  sepulchral 
sculpture,  and,  from  his  inexperience  in  the  art,  it 
presented  a  ludicrous  appearance  :  for,  from  the  im- 
portance Rory  attached  to  his  father's  soul  —  or,  as 
he  had  it,  sozvl — he  wished  to  make  the  word  parti- 
cularly conspicuous ;  but,  in  doing  this,  he  cut  the 
letters  so  large  that  he  did  not  leave  himself  room  to 
finish  the  word,  and  it  became  divided  —  the  word 
requiescat  became  also  divided  :  the  inscription,  there- 
fore, stood  as   follows  :  — 


You  were  thus  called  on  to  pray  for  the  Sow  in  one 
corner  while  the  Cat  was  conspicuous  in  the  other. 

Such  was  Rory's  first  attempt  in  this  way,  and 
though  the  work  has  often  made  others  smile,  poor 
Rory's  tears  had  moistened  every  letter  of  it,  and 
this  humble  tombstone  was  garlanded  with  as  much 
affection  as  the  more  costly  ones  of  modern  Pere  La- 
Chaise  :  and  though  there  were  none  who  could  read 
who  did  not  laugh  at  the  absurdity,  yet  they  regarded 


Rory  O'More 


Rory's  feelings  too  much  to  let  him  be  a  witness  of 
such  mirth.  Indeed  Rory  would  have  resented  with 
indignation  the  attempt  to  make  the  grave  of  his 
father  the  subject  of  laughter;  for  in  no  country  is 
the  hallowed  reverence  for  father  and  mother  more 
observed  than  in  Ireland. 

Besides,  Rory  was  not  a  little  proud  of  his  name. 
He  was  taught  to  believe  there  was  good  blood  in  his 
veins,  and  that  he  was  descended  from  the  O 'Mores 
of  Leinster.  Then,  an  old  schoolmaster  in  the  dis- 
trict, whose  pupil  Rory  had  been,  was  constantly  re- 
counting to  him,  the  glorious  deeds  of  his  progenitors 

—  or,  as  he  called  them,  his  "  owld  anshint  anshisthers 
in  the  owld  anshint  times,"  —  and  how  he  should  never 
disgrace  himself  by  doing  a  dirty  turn.  "  Not  that  I 
ever  seen  the  laste  sign  iv  it  in  you,  ma  houchal^  — 
but  there  's  no  knowin'.  And  sure  the  divil  's  busy 
wid  us  sometimes,  and  dales  in  timtayshins,  and  lays 
snares  for  us,  all  as  one  as  you  'd  snare  a  hare  or 
ketch  sparrows  in  a  thrap ;  and  who  can  tell  the 
minit  that  he  might  be  layin'  salt  on  your  tail  on- 
knownst  to  you,  if  you  wornt  smart  ?  —  and  therefore 
be  always  mindful  of  your  anshisthers,  that  wor  of 
the  highest  blood  in  Ireland,  and  in  one  of  the  high- 
est places  in  it  too,  Dunamaise  —  I  mane  the  rock  of 
Dunamaise,  and  no  less.  And  there  is  where  Rory 
O'More,  king  of  Leinsther,  lived  in  glory  time  out 
o'  mind  ;  and  the  Lords  of  the  Pale  darn't  touch  him 

—  and   pale  enough  he  made  them  often,  I  go  bail; 

—  and  there  he  was,  —  like  an  aigle  on  his  rock,  and 
the  dirty  English  afeard  o'  their  lives  to  go  within 
miles  iv  him,  and  he  shut  up  in  his  castle  as  stout  as 
a  ram." 

In  such  rhodomontade  used  Phelim  O'Flanagan  to 
flourish  away,  and  delight  the  ears  of  Rory  and  Mary, 
and  the  widow's  no  less.      Phelim  was  a  great  char- 


6  Rory  O'More 

acter :  he  wore  a  scratch  wig  that  had  been  built 
somewhere  about  the  year  One,  and  from  its  appear- 
ance might  justify  the  notion  that  Phelim's  wig-box 
was  a  dripping-pan.  He  had  a  pair  of  spectacles, 
which  held  their  place  upon  his  nose  by  taking  a 
strong  grip  of  it,  producing  thereby  a  snuffling  pro- 
nunciation, increased  by  his  taking  of  snufF:  indeed, 
so  closely  was  his  proboscis  embraced  by  this  primi- 
tive pair  of  spectacles,  that  he  could  not  have  his 
pinch  of  snufF  without  taking  them  off,  as  they  com- 
pletely blockaded  the  passage.  They  were  always 
stuck  low  down  on  his  nose,  so  that  he  could  see 
over  them  when  he  wished  it,  and  this  he  did  for  all 
distant  objects ;  while  for  reading  he  was  obliged  to 
throw  his  head  back  to  bring  his  eyes  to  bear  through 
the  glasses ;  and  this,  forcing  the  rear  of  his  wig 
downwards  on  the  collar  of  his  coat,  shoved  it  for- 
ward on  his  forehead,  and  stripped  the  back  of  his 
pate  :  in  the  former  case,  his  eyes  were  as  round  as 
an  owl's ;  and  in  the  other,  closed  nearly  into  the  ex- 
pression of  disdain,  or  at  least  of  great  consequence. 
His  coat  was  of  grey  frieze,  and  his  nether  garment 
of  buckskin,  equalling  the  polish  of  his  wig,  and  sur- 
passing that  of  his  shoes,  which  indeed  were  not 
polished,  except  on  Sunday,  or  such  occasions  as  the 
priest  of  the  parish  was  expected  to  pay  his  school  a 
visit,  —  and  then  the  polish  was  produced  by  the 
brogues  being  greased^  so  that  the  resemblance  to  the 
wig  was  more  perfect.  Stockings  he  had,  after  a 
sort ;  that  is  to  say,  he  had  woollen  cases  for  his  legs, 
but  there  were  not  any  feet  to  them ;  they  were 
stuffed  into  the  shoe  to  make  believe,  and  the  deceit 
was  tolerably  well  executed  in  front,  where  Phellm  had 
them  under  his  eye ;  but,  like  Achilles,  he  was  vul- 
nerable in  the  heel — indeed,  worse  off  than  that 
renowned  hero,  for  he  had  only  one  heel  unprotected. 


Rory  O'More 


while  poor  Phelimhad  both.  On  Monday,  Tuesday, 
and  Wednesday,  Phelim  had  a  shirt  —  you  saw  he 
had ;  but  towards  the  latter  end  of  the  week,  from 
the  closely-buttoned  coat,  and  the  ambuscade  of  a 
spotted  handkerchief  round  his  neck,  there  was 
ground  for  suspicion  that  the  shirt  was  under  the 
process  of  washing,  that  it  might  be  ready  for  service 
on  Sunday ;  when,  at  mass,  Phelim's  shirt  was  always 
at  its  freshest. 

There  was  a  paramount  reason,  to  be  sure,  why 
Phelim  sported  a  clean  shirt  in  chapel  on  Sunday :  he 
officiated  as  clerk  during  the  service,  —  or,  as  it  would 
be  said  amongst  the  peasantry,  he  "  sarved  mass  ;  "  and 
in  such  a  post  of  honour,  personal  decency  is  indis- 
pensable. In  this  service  he  was  assisted  by  a  couple 
of  boys,  who  were  the  head  of  his  school,  and  en- 
joyed great  immunities  in  consequence.  In  the  first 
place,  they  were  supposed,  from  virtue  of  the  dignity 
to  which  they  were  advanced,  to  understand  more 
Latin  than  any  of  the  rest  of  the  boys ;  and  from  the 
necessity  of  their  being  decently  clad,  they  were  of 
course  the  sons  of  the  most  comfortable  farmers  in 
the  district,  who  could  afford  the  luxury  of  shoes  and 
stockings  to  their  children,  to  enable  them  to  act  as 
acolytes.  The  boys  themselves  seemed  to  like  the 
thing  well  enough,  as  their  frequent  passing  and  re- 
passing behind  the  priest  at  the  altar,  with  various 
genuflexions,  gave  them  a  position  of  importance 
before  the  neighbours  that  was  gratifying ;  and  they 
seemed  to  be  equally  pleased  up  to  one  point,  and  to 
proceed  in  perfect  harmony  until  the  ringing  of  a 
little  bell,  and  that  was  the  signal  for  a  fight  between 
them  :  —  when  I  say  fight,  I  do  not  mean  that  they 
boxed  each  other  before  (or  rather  behind)  the  priest, 
but  to  all  intents  and  purposes  there  was  a  struggle 
who   should  get  the  bell,  as  that  seemed   the  grand 


Rory  O'More 


triumph  of  the  day  ;  and  the  little  bell  certainly  had  a 
busy  time  of  it,  for  the  boy  that  had  it  seemed  endued 
with  a  prodigious  accession  of  devotion  ;  and  as  he  bent 
himself  to  the  very  earth,  he  rattled  the  bell  till  it 
seemed  choking  with  its  superabundant  vibration  ; 
while  the  Christianity  of  his  brother  acolyte  seemed  to 
suffer  in  proportion  to  the  piety  of  his  rival,  for  he 
did  not  bow  half  so  low,  and  was  looking  with  a 
sidelong  eye  and  sulky  mouth  at  his  victorious 
coadjutor. 

As  for  Phelim,  his  post  of  honour  was  robing  and 
unrobing  the  priest  before  the  altar;  for  in  the 
humble  little  chapel  where  all  this  was  wont  to  occur 
there  was  no  vestry — the  priest  was  habited  in  his 
vestments  in  the  presence  of  his  congregation.  But 
Phelim's  grand  triumph  seemed  to  be,  his  assisting 
his  clergy  in  sprinkling  the  flock  with  holy  water. 
This  was  done  by  means  of  a  large  sprinkling-brush, 
which  the  priest  dipped  from  time  to  time  in  a  vessel 
of  holy  water  which  Phelim  held,  and  waving  it  to 
the  right  and  left,  cast  it  over  the  multitude.  For 
this  purpose,  at  a  certain  period,  the  little  gate  of  a 
small  area  railed  round  the  altar  was  opened,  and 
forth  stepped  the  priest,  followed  by  Phelim  bearing 
the  holy  water.  Now  it  happened  that  the  vessel 
which  held  it  was  no  other  than  a  bucket.  I  do  not 
mean  this  irreverently,  for  holy  water  would  be  as 
holy  in  a  bucket  as  in  a  golden  urn  ;  but,  God  for- 
give me  !  I  could  not  help  thinking  it  rather  queer  to 
see  Phelim  bearing  this  great  bucket  of  water,  with  a 
countenance  indicative  of  the  utmost  pride  and  impor- 
tance, following  the  priest,  who  advanced  through  the 
crowd,  that  opened  and  bowed  before  him  as  his 
reverence  ever  and  anon  turned  round,  popped  his 
sprinkling-brush  into  the  water,  and  slashed  it  about 
right  and  left  over  his  flock,  that  courted   the  shower, 


Rory  O'More 


and  were  the  happier  the  more  they  were  wet.  Poor 
people !  if  it  made  them  happy,  where  was  the  harm 
of  it  ?  A  man  is  not  considered  unworthy  of  the 
blessings  of  the  constitution  of  Great  Britain  by  get- 
ting wet  to  the  skin  in  the  pelting  rain  of  the  equinox; 
and  I  cannot,  nor  ever  could,  see,  why  a  it-w  drops 
of  holy  water  should  exclude  him.  But  hang  philo- 
sophy !   what  has  it  to  do  with  a  novel  ? 

Phelim,  like  a  great  many  other  hedge-schoolmas- 
ters, held  his  rank  in  the  Church  of  Rome  from  his 
being  able  to  mumble  some  scraps  of  Latin,  which 
being  the  only  language  his  Sable  Majesty  does  not 
understand,  is  therefore  the  one  selected  for  the  cele- 
bration of  the  mass.  How  a  prince  of  his  importance 
could  be  so  deficient  in  his  education,  may  well 
create  surprise,  particularly  as  he  is  so  constant  an 
inmate  of  our  universities. 

Phelim's  Latin,  to  be  sure,  could  scarcely  "  shame 
the  d — 1,"  though  certainly  it  might  have  puzzled 
him.  It  was  a  barbarous  jargon,  and  but  for  knowing 
the  phrases  he  meant  to  say,  no  one  could  compre- 
hend him.  Spiritu  tuo^  was  from  his  mouth,  "  Sper- 
chew  chew  o,"  and  so  on.  Nevertheless,  it  was  not 
in  chapel  alone  that  Phelim  sported  his  Latin  —  nor 
in  his  school  either,  where,  for  an  additional  twopence 
a-week,  he  inducted  his  scholars  into  the  mysteries  of 
the  classics  (and  mysteries  might  they  well  be  called), 
—  but  even  in  his  social  intercourse,  he  was  fond  of 
playing  the  pedant  and  astonishing  the  vulgar  ;  and 
as  poaching  piscators  throw  medicated  crumbs  into 
the  waters  where  they  fish,  so  Phelim  flung  about  his 
morsels  of  Latin  to  catch  his  gudgeons.  Derivations 
were  his  fort ;  and  after  elucidating  something  in  that 
line,  he  always  said,  "  Derry  wather,"  and  took  snufF 
with  an  air  of  sublimity.  Or,  if  he  overcame  an 
antagonist   in  an  argument,  which   was   seldom   the 


lo  Rory  O'More 

case,  because  few  dared  to  engage  with  him,  —  but, 
when  any  individual  was  rash  enough  to  encounter 
Phelim,  he  always  slaughtered  him  with  big  words,  and 
instead  of  addressing  his  opponent,  he  would  turn  to 
the  company  present  and  say,  "  Now,  I  '11  make  yiz 
all  sinsible  to  a  demonstheration  ;  "  and  then,  after  he 
had  held  them  suspended  in  wonder  for  a  few  minutes 
at  the  jumble  of  hard  words  which  neither  he  nor  they 
understood,  he  would  look  round  the  circle  with  a 
patronising  air,  saying,  "You  persaive  —  Q.  E.  d. 
what  was  to  be  demonstherated  !  " 

This  always  finished  the  argument  in  the  letter, 
but  not  in  the  spirit ;  for  Phelim,  though  he  secured 
silence,  did  not  produce  persuasion  :  his  adversary 
often  kept  his  own  opinion,  but  kept  it  a  secret  too, 
as  long  as  Phelhn  luas  present ;  "  for  how,"  as  they 
themselves  said  when  his  back  was  turned,  "  could  it 
be  expected  for  them  to  argufy  with  him  when  he 
took  to  discoorsin    them   out  o'  their  common  sense  ? 

—  and  the  hoighth  o'  fine  language  it   sartainly  was 

—  hut  sure  it  luouldnt  stand  to  raison."  How  many  a 
speech  in  higher  places  is  worthy  of  the  same 
commentary  ! 

Perhaps  I  have  lingered  too  long  in  detailing  these 
peculiarities  of  Phelim ;  but  he  was  such  an  original, 
that  a  sketch  of  him  was  too  great  a  temptation  to  be 
resisted  ;  besides,  as  he  is  about  to  appear  immedi- 
ately, I  wished  the  reader  to  have  some  idea  of  the 
sort  of  person  he  was. 

The  evening  was  closing  as  Phelim  O'Flanagan 
strolled  up  the  boreen  leading  to  the  widow  O'More's 
cottage.  On  reaching  the  house  he  sav7  the  widow 
sitting  at  the  door  knitting. 

"  God  save  you,  Mrs.  O'More  !  "  said  Phelim. 

"  God  save  you  kindly  !  "  answered  the  widow. 

"  Faith,   then,   it 's    yourself  is    the    industherous 


Rory  0' More  n 

woman,  Mrs.  O'More,  for  it  is  working  you  are  airly 
and  late  :  and  to  think  of  your  being  at  the  needles 
now,  and   the   evenin'  closin'  in  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  call  this  work,"  said  the  widow  :  "  it 
is  only  jist  to  have  something  to  do,  and  not  be  lost 
with  idleness,  that  I  'm  keepin'   my  hands  goin'." 

"  And  your  eyes  too,  'faith  —  and  God  spare  them 
to  you." 

"  Amin,  dear,"  said  the  widow. 

"  And  where  is  the  ts/Ztv^,  that  she  isn't  helpin'you?  " 

"  Oh,  she  's  jist  gone  beyant  the  meadow  there,  to 
cut  nettles  for  the  chickens  —  she  '11  be  in  in  a  minit. 
Won't  you  sit  down,  Mr.  O'Flanagan?  — you  'd  bet- 
ther  dhraw  a  sate." 

"I'm  taller  standin',  Mrs.  O'More,  —  thank  you 
all  the  same,  ma'am.     And  where  would  Ror\'  be  ?  " 

"  Why,  indeed,  the  Scholar  wint  out  shootin',  and 
Rory  wint  wid  him.  —  It's  fond  of  the  sport  he  is, 
Mr.  O'Flanagan,  as  vou  know." 

"  Thrue  for  vou,  ma'am  ;  it 's  hard  if  I  would  n't, 
when  I  sot  over  him  for  five  years  and  betther;  and 
hard  it  was  to  keep  him  undher  !  for  he  was  always 
fond  o'  sport." 

"  But  not  the  taste  o'  vice  in  him,  Phelim  dear," 
said  the  mother. 

"No,  no,  Mrs.  O'More,  bv  no  manes  —  nothing 
but  heart  and  fun  in  him  ;  but  not  the  sign  o'  mis- 
chief. And  why  would  n't  he  like  to  go  a  start  with 
the  young  gintleman  a-shootin'  ?  —  the  dog  and  the 
gun  is  tempting  to  man  ever  since  the  days  o'  Vargil 
himself,  who  says  with  great  beauty  and  discrimina- 
tion, y/rwa  v'lrumque  cam:  which  manes, '  Arms,  men, 
and  dogs,'  which  is  three  things  that  always  goes 
togither   since   the   world   began." 

"  Think  o'  that  now  !  "  said  the  widow  :  "  and  so 
Vargo  used  to  go  shootin'  !  " 


12  Rory  O'More 

"  Not  exactly,  Mrs.  O'More,  my  dear  :  besides  the 
man's  name  was  not  Vargo,  but  Vargil.  Vargo, 
Mrs.   O'More,   manes   the   Vargin." 

"  God  forgi'  me  !  "  said  the  widow ;  "  is  it  the 
blessed  Vargin  I  said  wint  shootin'  ?  "  and  she 
crossed  herself. 

"No,  Mrs.  O'More,  my  dear  —  by  no  manes. 
Vargo  manes  only  vargin ;  which  is  not  blessed^ 
without  you  join  it  with  something  else.  But  Vargil 
was  the  man's  name  ;  he  was  a  great  Roman  pote." 

"  Oh,  the  darlin'  !  "  said  the  widow  j  "  and  was  he 
a  Roman  ?  " 

"Not  as  you  mane  it,  Mrs.  O'More,  my  dearj  he 
was  not  a  good  Catholic  —  and  more  's  the  pity,  and 
a  sore  loss  to  him  !  But  he  did  n't  know  betther,  for 
they  were  lost  in  darkness  in  them  days,  and  had  not 
the  knowledge  of  uz.  But  whin  I  say  he  was  a 
Roman,  I  mane  he  was  of  that  famous  nation —  (and 
tarin'  fellows  they  wor!) — Rotnani  populi^  as  we 
say,  his  nativity  being  cast  in  Mantua,  which  is  a 
famous  port  of  that  counthry,  you  persaive,  Mrs. 
O'More." 

Here  Mrs.  O'More  dropped  her  ball  of  worsted  : 
and  Phelim,  not  wishing  a  word  of  his  harangue  to  be 
lost,  waited  till  the  widow  was  reseated  and  in  a  state 
of  attention  again. 

"  Mantua,  1  say,  Mrs.  O'More,  a  famous  port  of 
the  Romani  populi  —  the  port  of  Mantua — which 
retains  to  this  day  the  honour  of  Vargil's  nativity 
bein'  cast  in  that  same  place,  you  persaive,  Mrs. 
O'More." 

"  Yis,  yis,  Mr.  O'Flanagan,  I  'm  mindin'  you,  sir. 
Oh,  what  a  power  o'  larnin'  you  have !  Well, 
well,  but  it 's  wondherful  !  — and  sure  I  never  heerd 
afore  of  any  one  bein'  born  in  a  portmantia." 

"  Oh  !  ho,  ho,  ho  !   Mrs.  O'More  !     No,  my  dear 


Rory  O'More  13 

ma'am,"  said  Phelim,  laughing,  "  I  did  n't  sav  he 
was  born  in  a  portmantia  :  I  said  the  port  of  Mantua, 
which  was  a  territorial  possession,  or  domain,  as  I 
may  say,  of  the  Romani  populi^  where  Vargil  had  his 
nativity  cast,  —  that  is  to  say,  was  born." 

*'  Dear,  dear  !  what  knowledge  you  have.  Air. 
O'Flanagan  !  — and  no  wondher  vou  'd  laugh  at  me  ! 
But  sure,  no  wondher  at  the  same  time,  when  I 
thought  you  wor  talkin'  of  a  portmantia,  that  I  would 
wondher  at  a  child  bein'  sent  into  the  world  in  that 
manner." 

"Quite  nath'ral,  A4rs.  O'AIore,  my  dear  —  quite 
nath'ral,"  said  Phelim. 

"  But  can  you  tell  me " 

*'  To  be  sure  I  can,"  said  Phelim  :  "  what  is  it  ?  " 

*'  I  mane,  would  you  tell  me,  A'Ir.  O'Flanagan,  is 
that  the  place  portmantias  comes  from  ?  " 

"  Why,  indeed.  Airs.  O'AIore,  it  is  likely,  from  the 
derrywation,  that  it  is  :  but,  you  see,  these  is  small 
thrifles  o'  history  that  is  not  worth  the  while  o'  great 
min  to  notice  ;  and  by  raison  of  that  same  we  are  left 
to  our  own  conjunctures  in  sitch  matthers." 

"Dear,  dear!  Well — but,  sir,  did  that  gintle- 
man  you  wor  talkin'  about  go  a  shootin'  —  that  Air. 
Varjuice  ?  " 

"Vargil,  Mrs.  O'AIore — Var-gil,"  said  Phelim, 
w'th  authoritv. 

"  I  beg  his  pard'n  and  vours,  sir." 

"  No  offince,  Mrs.  O'More.  Why,  ma'am,  as  for 
goin  shootin',  he  did  not  —  and  for  various  raisons  : 
guns  was  scarce  in  thim  times,  and  gunpowdher  was 
not  in  vogue,  but  was,  by  all  accounts,  atthributed 
to  Friar  Bacon  posteriorly." 

"  Oh,  the  dirty  divils  !  "  said  the  widow,  "  to  fry 
their  bacon  with  gunpowdher — that  bates  all  I  ever 
heerd." 


14  Rory  O'More 

Phelim  could  not  help  laughing  outright  at  the 
widow's  mistake,  and  was  about  to  explain,  but  she 
was  a  little  annoyed  at  being  laughed  at,  and  Rory 
O'More  and  the  Scholar,  as  he  was  called,  having  re- 
turned at  the  moment,  she  took  the  opportunity  of 
retiring  into  the  house,  and  left  Phelim  and  his  expla- 
nation and  the  sportsmen  altogether. 


CHAPTER   II 

SHOWING  HOW  A  JOURNEY  MAY  BE  PERFORMED  ON 
A  GRIDIRON  WITHOUT  GOING  AS  FAR  AS  ST. 
LAURENCE 

THE  arrival  of  Rory  O'More  and  the  Scholar 
having  put  an  end  to  the  colloquy  of  the  widow 
and  Phelim  O'Flanagan,  the  reader  may  as  well  be 
informed,  during  the  pause,  who  the  person  is  already 
designated  under  the  title  of  "  the  Scholar." 

It  was  some  weeks  before  the  opening  of  our  story 
that  Rory  O'More  had  gone  to  Dublin,  for  the 
transaction  of  some  business  connected  with  the 
lease  of  the  little  farm  of  the  widow  —  if  the  few 
acres  she  held  might  be  dignified  with  that  name. 
There  was  onlv  some  very  subordinate  person  on  the 
spot  to  whom  anv  communication  on  the  subject 
could  be  made,  for  the  agent,  following  the  example 
of  the  lord  of  the  soil,  was  an  absentee  from  the 
property  as  well  as  his  employer  ;  —  the  landlord  resid- 
ing principally  in  London,  though  deriving  most  of 
his  income  from  Ireland,  and  the  agent  living  in 
Dublin,  making  half-yearlv  visits  to  the  tenantry, 
who  never  saw  his  face  until  he  came  to  ask  them 
for  their  rents.  As  it  happened  that  it  was  in  the 
six  months'  interregnum  that  the  widow  wished  to 
arrange  about  her  lease,  she  sent  her  son  to  Dublin 
for  the  purpose  —  "For  what's  the  use,"  said  she, 
"  of  talking  to  that  fellow  that 's  down  here,  who  can 


i6  Rory  O'More 

never  give  you  a  straight  answer,  but  goes  on  with  his 
gosther,  and  says  he  '11  write  about  it,  and  will  have 
word  for  you  next  time ;  and  so  keeps  you  goin' 
hither  and  thither,  and  all  the  time  the  thing  is  just 
where  it  was  before,  and  never  comes  to  any  thing  ? 
—  So  Rory,  dear,  in  God's  name  go  off  yourself  and 
see  the  agint  in  Dublin,  and  get  the  rights  o'  the 
thing  out  o'  his  own  mouth."  So  Rorv  set  out  for 
Dublin,  not  without  plenty  of  cautions  from  his 
mother  to  take  care  of  himself  in  the  town,  for  she 
heard  it  was  "  the  dickens'  own  place ;  and  I  'm  towld 
they  're  sich  rogues  there,  that  if  you  sleep  with  your 
mouth  open,  they  '11  stale  the  teeth  out  o'  your 
head." 

"  Faix,  and  maybe  they  'd  find  me  like  a  weasel 
asleep ;  "  answered  Rory  —  "  asleep  with  my  eyes 
open  :  and  if  they  have  such  a  fancy  for  my  teeth, 
maybe,  it  's  in  the  shape  of  a  bite  they  'd  get  them." 
For  Rory  had  no  small  notion  of  his  own  sagacity. 

The  wonders  of  Dublin  gave  Rory,  on  his  return, 
wide  field  for  descanting  upon,  and  made  his  hearers 
wonder  in  turn.  But  this  is  not  the  time  nor  place 
to  touch  on  such  matters.  Suffice  it  here  to  say,  Rory 
transacted  his  business  in  Dublin  satisfactorily ;  and 
having  done  so,  he  mounted  his  outside  place  on  one 
of  the  coaches  from  town,  and  found  himself  beside  a 
slight,  pale,  but  rather  handsome  young  gentleman, 
perfectly  free  from  any  thing  of  that  repulsive  bearing 
which  sometimes  too  forcibly  marks  the  distinction 
between  the  ranks  of  parties  that  may  chance  to  meet 
in  such  promiscuous  society  as  that  which  a  public 
conveyance  huddles  together.  He  was  perfectly 
accommodating  to  his  fellow-travellers  while  they 
were  shaking  themselves  down  into  their  places,  and 
on  the  journey  he  conversed  freely  with  Rory  on 
such  subjects  as  the  passing  occurrences  of  the  road 


Rory  O'More  17 

suggested.  This  unaffected  conduct  won  him  ready 
esteem  and  liking  from  his  humble  neighbour,  as  in 
such  cases  it  never  fails  to  do :  but  its  effect  was 
heightened  by  the  contrast  which  another  passenger 
afforded,  who  seemed  to  consider  it  a  great  degrada- 
tion to  have  a  person  in  Rory's  condition  placed 
beside  him ;  and  he  spoke  in  an  offensive  tone  of 
remark  to  the  person  seated  at  the  other  side,  and 
quite  loud  enough  to  be  heard,  of  the  assurance  of 
the  lower  orders,  and  how  hard  it  was  to  make  low 
fellows  understand  how  to  keep  their  distance.  To 
all  this,  Rory,  with  a  great  deal  of  tact,  never  made 
any  reply,  and  to  a  casual  observer  would  have 
seemed  not  to  notice  it ;  but  to  the  searching  eye  of 
his  pale  companion,  there  was  the  quick  and  momen- 
tary quiver  of  indignation  on  the  peasant's  lip,  and  the 
compression  of  brow  that  denotes  pain  and  anger,  the 
more  acute  from  their  being  concealed.  But  an 
occasion  soon  offered  for  this  insolent  and  ill-bred 
fellow  to  make  an  open  aggression  upon  Rory,  which 
our  hero  returned  with  interest.  After  one  of  the 
stoppages  on  the  road  for  refreshment,  the  passengers 
resumed  their  places,  and  the  last  to  make  his  re- 
appearance was  this  bashaw.  On  getting  up  to  his 
seat,  he  said,  "  Where  's  my  coat  ?  " 

To  this  no  one  made  any  answer,  and  the  question 
was  soon  repeated  in  a  louder  tone  :  "  Where  's  my 
coat  ?  " 

"Your  coat,  is  it,  sir?  "  said  the  coachman. 

*'  Yes  —  my  coat  ;  do  you  know  any  thing  of  it  ?  " 

"•No,  sir,"  said  the  coachman  :  "  maybe  you  took 
it  into  the  house  with  you." 

"No,  I  did  not:  I  left  it  on  the  coach.  —  And  by 
the  bye,"  said  he,  looking  at  Rory,  "you  were  the 
only  person  who  did  not  quit  the  coach  —  did  you 
take  it?" 

VOL.    I.  —  2 


i8  Rory  O'More 

"  Take  what  ?  "  said  Rory,  with  a  peculiar  em- 
phasis and  intonation  on  the  what. 

"  My  coat,"  said  the  other,  with  extreme  effrontery. 

"  I  've  a  coat  o'  my  own,"  said  Rory,  with  great 
composure. 

"  That 's  not  an  answer  to  my  question,"  said  the 
other. 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  be  glad  to  get  so  quiet  an 
answer,"   said  Rory. 

"  I  think  so  too,"  said  the  pale  traveller. 

'■'■  I  did  not  address  my  conversation  to  you,  sir," 
said  the  swaggering  gentleman. 

"  If  you  did,  sir,  you  should  have  been  lying  in  the 
middle  of  the  road,  now,"  was  the  taunting  rejoinder. 

At  this  moment,  a  waiter  made  his  appearance  at 
the  door  of  the  inn,  bearing  the  missing  coat  on  his 
arm  ;  and  handing  it  up  to  the  owner,  he  said,  "  You 
left  this  behind  you  in  the  parlour,  sir." 

The  effect  was  what  any  one  must  anticipate  : 
indignant  eyes  were  turned  on  all  sides  upon  the 
person  making  so  wanton  an  aggression,  and  he  him- 
self seemed  to  stagger  under  the  evidence  against 
him.  He  scarcely  knew  what  to  do.  After  much 
stammering,  and  hemming  and  hawing,  he  took  the 
coat  from  the  waiter,  and  turning  to  Rory,  said,  "  I 
see  —  I  forgot  —  I  thought  that  I  left  it  on  the 
coach  ;  —  but  —  a I  see  't  was  a  mistake." 

"  Oh,  make  no  apologies,"  said  Rory  ;  "  we  were 
both  undher  a  mistake." 

"  How  both  ?  "  said  the  Don. 

"Why,  sir,"  said  Rory,  "you  mistuk  me  for  a 
thief,  and  I   mistuk  you  for  a  gintleman." 

The  swaggerer  could  not  rally  against  the  laugh  this 
bitter  repartee  made  against  him,  and  he  was  effectu- 
ally silenced  for  the  rest  of  the  journey. 

Indeed,  the    conversation   soon    slackened    on   all 


Rory  0' More  19 

sides,  for  it  began  to  rain ;  and  it  may  be  remarked, 
that  under  such  circumstances  travellers  wrap  up 
their  minds  and  bodies  at  the  same  time ;  and  once 
a  man  draws  his  nose  inside  the  collar  of  his  great- 
coat, it  miist  be  something  much  above  the  average 
of  stage-coach  pleasantry  which  will  make  him  poke 
it  out  again  —  and  spirits  invariably  fall  as  umbrellas 
rise. 

But  neither  great-coats  nor  umbrellas  were  long 
proof  against  the  torrents  that  soon  fell,  for  these 
were  not  the  days  of  Macintosh  and  India  rubber. 

Have  you  ever  remarked,  that  on  a  sudden  dash  of 
rain  the  coachman  immediately  begins  to  whip  his 
horses  ?  So  it  was  on  the  present  occasion  ;  and  the 
more  it  rained,  the  faster  he  drove.  Splash  they  went 
through  thick  and  thin,  as  if  velocity  could  have  done 
them  any  good  ;  and  the  rain,  one  might  have  thought, 
was  vying  with  the  coachman,  —  for  the  faster  he 
drove,  the  faster  it  seemed  to  rain. 

At  last  the  passengers  seated  on  the  top  began  to 
feel  their  seats  invaded  by  the  flood  that  deluged  the 
roof  of  the  coach,  just  as  they  entered  a  town  where 
there  was  change  of  horses  to  be  made.  The  mo- 
ment the  coach  stopped,  Rory  O'More  jumped  off, 
and  said  to  the  coachman,  "  I  '11  be  back  with  you 
before  you  go  ;  —  but  don't  start  before  I  come :  " 
and  away   he  ran   down  the  town. 

"  Faix,  that 's  a  sure  way  of  being  back  before  I 
go  ! "  said  the  driver  :  "  but  you  'd  betther  not  delay, 
my  buck,  or  it 's  behind  I  '11  lave  you." 

While  change  was  being  made,  the  passengers  en- 
deavoured to  procure  wads  of  straw  to  sit  upon,  for 
the  wet  became  more  and  more  inconvenient  ;  and  at 
last  all  was  ready  for  starting,  and  Rory  had  not  yet 
returned.  The  horn  was  blown,  and  the  coachman's 
patience  was  just  worn  out,  when  Rory  hove  in  sight, 


20  Rory  O'More 

splashing  his  way  through  the  middle  of  the  street, 
flourishing  two  gridirons  over  his  head. 

"  Here  I  am,"  said  he,  panting  and  nearly  ex- 
hausted :   "  'faith,  I  'd  a  brave  run   for  it  !  " 

"  Why,  thin,  what  the  dickens  do  you  want  here 
with  gridirons  ?  "    said  the  coachman. 

"Oh,  never  mind,"  said  Rory;  "jist  give  me  a 
wisp  o'  sthraw,  and  God  bless  you,"  said  he  to  one 
of  the  helpers  who  was  standing  by  ;  and  having  got 
it,  he  scrambled  up  the  coach,  and  said  to  his  pale 
friend,  "  Now,  sir,  we  '11  be  comfortable." 

"  I  don't  see  much  likelihood  of  it,"  said  his 
fellow-traveller. 

"  Why,  look  what  I  've  got  for  you,"  said  Rory. 

"  Oh,  that  straw  will  soon  be  sopped  with  rain,  and 
then  we  '11  be  as  badly  off  as  before." 

"  But  it 's  not  on  sthraw  I  'm  depindin',"  said  Rory  ; 
"  look  at  this  !  "  and  he  brandished  one  of  the  gridirons. 

"  I  have  heard  of  stopping  the  tide  with  a  pitch- 
fork," said  the  traveller,  smiling,  "  but  never  of 
keeping  out  rain  with  a  gridiron." 

"  'Faith,  thin,  I  '11  show  you  how  to  do  that  same," 
said  Rory.  "Here  —  sit  up  —  clap  this  gridiron 
undher  you^  and  you  '11  be  undher  wather  no  longer. 
Stop,  sir,  stay  a  minit  —  don't  sit  down  on  the  bare 
bars,  and  be  makin'  a  beefstake  o'  yourself;  here's 
a  wisp  o'  sthraw  to  put  betune  you  and  the  cowld  iron 
—  and  not  a  dhryer  sate  in  all  Ireland  than  the  same 
gridiron." 

The  young  traveller  obeyed,  and  while  he  admired 
the  ingenuity,  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  whimsi- 
cality, of  the  contrivance. 

"  You  see  I  've  another  for  myself,"  said  Rory, 
seating  himself  in  a  similar  manner  on  his  second 
gridiron  :  "  and  now,"  added  he,  "  as  far  as  the  sates 
is  consarned,  it  may  rain  till  doomsday." 


Rory  O'More  21 

Away  went  the  coach  again  ;  and  for  some  time 
after  resuming  the  journey,  the  young  traveller  was 
revolving  the  oddity  of  the  foregoing  incident  in  his 
mind,  and  led  by  his  train  of  thought  to  the  considera- 
tion of  national  characteristics,  he  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  an  Irishman  was  the  only  man  under  the 
sun  who  could  have  hit  upon  so  strange  an  expedient 
for  relieving  them  from  their  difficulty.  He  was 
struck  not  only  by  the  originality  of  the  design  and 
the  promptness  of  the  execution,  but  also  by  the 
good-nature  of  his  companion  in  thinking  of  him 
on  the  occasion.  After  these  conclusions  had  passed 
through  his  own  mind,  he  turned  to  Rory,  and  said, 
"  What  was  it  made  you  think  of  a  gridiron  ?  " 
"Why,  thin,  I  '11  tell  you,"  said  Ror)\  "  I  prom- 
ised my  mother  to  bring  a  present  to  the  priest  from 
Dublin,  and  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  rightly 
what  to  get  all  the  time  I  was  there.  I  thought  of  a 
pair  o'  tof)-boots  ;  for  indeed,  his  reverence's  is  none 
of  the  best,  and  only  you  know  them  to  be  top-boots, 
you  would  not  take  them  to  be  top-boots,  bekase  the 
bottoms  has  been  put  in  so  often  that  the  tops  is  wore 
out  intirely,  and  is  no  more  like  top-boots  than  my 
brogues.  So  I  wint  to  a  shop  in  Dublin,  and  picked 
out  the  purtiest  pair  o'  top-boots  I  could  see; — whin 
I  say  purty,  I  don't  mane  a  flourishin'  '  taarin'  pair 
but  sitch  as  was  fit  for  a  priest,  a  respectable  pair  o' 
boots;  —  and  with  that,  I  pulled  out  my  good  money 
to  pay  for  thim,  whin  jist  at  that  minit,  remembering 
the  thricks  o'  the  town,  I  bethought  o'  myself,  and 
says  I,  '  I  suppose  these  are  the  right  thing  ?  '  says  I 
to  the  man.  '  You  can  thry  them,'  savs  he.  — '  How 
can  I  thiy  them  ? '  savs  I.  — '  Pull  them  on  you,'  says 
he.  — '  Throth,  an'  I'd  be  sorry,'  says  I,  'to  take 
sitch  a  liberty  with  thim,'  says  I.  —  'Why,  aren't 
you  goin'  to  ware  thim  ? '  says  he.  —  'Is  it  me  ? '  says 


22  Rory  O'More 

I.  '  Me  ware  top-boots  ?  Do  you  think  it 's  takin' 
lave  of  my  sinses  I  am?'  says  I. — 'Then  what  do 
you  want  to  buy  them  for?'  says  he.  —  'For  his 
reverence,  Father  Kinshela,'  says  I.  '  Are  they  the 
right  sort  for  him  ?  '  —  '  How  should  I  know  ?  '  says 
he.  —  '  You  're  a  purty  boot-maker,'  says  I,  '  not  to 
know  how  to  make  a  priest's  boot !  '  — '  How  do  I 
know  his  size  ?  '  says  he.  — '  Oh,  don't  be  comin'  ofF 
that-a-way,'  says  I.  '  There  's  no  sitch  great  differ 
betune  priests  and  other  min !  '  " 

"  I  think  you  are  very  right  there,"  said  the  pale 
traveller. 

"  To  be  sure,  sir,"  said  Rory  ;  "  and  it  was  only  jist 
a  come  off  iox  his  own  ignorance.  — '  Tell  me  his  size,' 
says  the  fellow,  '  and  I'll  fit  him.'  —  'He's  betune 
five  and  six  fut,'  says  I. — 'Most  men  are,'  says  he, 
laughin'  at  me.  He  was  an  impidint  fellow.  —  'It  's 
not  the  five,  nor  six,  but  his  two  feet  I  want  to  know 
the  size  of,'  says  he.  So  I  perceived  he  was  jeerin' 
me,  and  says  I,  '  Why,  thin,  you  disrespectful  vaga- 
bone  o'  the  world,  you  Dublin  jackeen  !  do  you  mane 
to  insinivate  that  Father  Kinshela  ever  wint  barefutted 
in  his  life,  that  I  could  know  the  size  of  his  fut,'  says 
I  !  and  with  that  I  threw  the  boots  in  his  face.  '  Take 
that,'  says  I,  '  you  dirty  thief  o'  the  world  !  you  impi- 
dint vagabone  of  the  world  !  you  ignorant  citizen  o' 
the  world  !  '     And  with  that  I   left  the  place." 

The  traveller  laughed  outright  at  the  absurdity  of 
Rory's  expectation  that  well-fitting  boots  for  all  per- 
sons were  to  be  made  by  intuition. 

"  'Faith,  I  thought  it  would  plaze  you,"  said  Rory. 
"  Don't  you  think  I  sarved  him  right  ?  " 

"  You  astonished  him,  I  dare  say." 

"  I  'II  engage  I  did.  Wanting  to  humbug  me  that 
way,  taking  me  for  a  nath'ral  bekase  I  come  from  the 
counthry  !  " 


Rory  O'More  23 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  said  the  traveller. 
"  It  is  their  usual  practice  to  take  measure  of  their 
customers." 

"  Is  it,  thin  .?  " 

"  It  really  is." 

"  See  that,  now  !  "  said  Rorv,  with  an  air  of  tri- 
umph. "  You  would  think  that  they  wor  cleverer  in 
the  town  than  in  the  counthiy  ;  and  they  ought  to  be 
so,  by  all  accounts  ;  —  but  in  the  regard  of  what  I 
towld  you,  vou  see,  we  're  before  them  intirely." 

''  How  so  ?  "  said  the  traveller. 

"  Arrah  !  bekase  they  never  throuble  people  in  the 
counthry  at  all  with  takin'  their  measure;  but  you  jist 
go  to  a  fair,  and  bring  your  fut  along  with  you,  and 
somebody  else  dhrives  a  cartful  o'  brogues  into  the 
place,  and  there  you  sarve  yourself;  and  so  the  man 
gets  his  money  and  you  get  your  shoes,  and  every 
one 's  plazed.  Now,  is  n't  that  betther  than  sitch 
botches  as  thim  in  Dublin,  that  must  have  the  meas- 
ure, and  keep  you  waitin'  ?  while  in  the  counthry 
there  's  no  delay  in  life,  but  it 's  jist  down  with  your 
money  and  off  with  vour  brogues  !  " 

"On  with  your  brogues,  you  mean?"  said  the 
traveller. 

"  No,  indeed,  now  !  "  said  Rory  ;  "  you  're  out 
there.  Sure  we  would  n't  be  so  wasteful  as  to  put 
on  a  bran  new  pair  o'  brogues  to  go  lickin'  the  road 
home  ?  no,  in  throth ;  we  keep  them  for  the  next 
dance  we  're  goin'  to,  or  maybe  to  go  to  chapel  of  a 
Sunday." 

"And  if  you  don't  put  them  on,  how  can  you  tell 
they  fit  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  're  all  alike  !  " 

"  But  what  would  you  do,  when  you  wanted  to  go 
to  your  dance,  if  you  found  your  brogues  were  too 
small  ?  " 


24  Rory  O'More 

*'  Oh,  that  niver  happens.  They  're  all  fine  aisy 
shoes." 

"  Well,  but  if  they  prove  too  easy  ?  " 

"  That 's  aisy  cured,"  said  Rory  :  "  stuff  a  thrifle 
o'  hay  into  them,  like  the  Mullingar  heifers." 

"  Mullingar  heifers  !  "  said  the  traveller,  rather 
surprised  by  the  oddity  of  the  expression. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Rory  ;  "  did  you  niver  hear  of  the 
Mullingar  heifers  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  Why,  you  see,  sir,  the  women  in  Westmeath, 
they  say,  is  thick  in  the  legs,  God  help  them,  the 
craythurs  !  and  so  there 's  a  saying  again  thim, 
*  You  're  beef  to  the  heels,  like  a  Mullingar 
heifer.'  " 

"  Oh  !   I  perceive." 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  it  's  all  on  account  of  what  I  towld 
you  about  the  hay." 

"  How  ?  "  said  the  traveller. 

"  Why,  there  's  an  owld  joke  you  may  take  a  turn 
out  of,  if  you  like,  whin  you  see  a  girl  that 's  thick 
in  the  fetlock  —  you  call  afther  her  and  say,  '  Young 
woman  ! '  She  turns  round,  and  then  says  you,  '  I 
beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,  but  I  think  you  're  used  to 
wear  hay  in  your  shoes.'  Thin,  if  she  's  innocent, 
she  '11  ask  '  Why  ?  '  — and  thin  you  '11  say,  '  Bekase 
the  calves  has  run  down  your  legs  to  get  at  it." 

"  1  see,"  said  the  stranger  I  "  that  is,  if  she  's  in- 
nocent." 

"  Yis,  sir  —  simple  I  mane;  but  that  seldom  hap- 
pens, for  they  're  commonly  up  to  you,  and  'cute 
enough." 

*'  Now,  in  case  she  's  not  innocent,  as  you  say  ?  " 
said  the  traveller. 

"  'Faith  !  maybe  it 's  a  sharp  answer  you  'II  get 
thin,  or    none.     It  's    as    like   as   not  she   may   say, 


Rory  O'More  25 

'  Thank 'ee,  voung  man,  w'  calf  do&s  n't  like  hav,  and 
so  your  vvelkim  to  \x.  yourself.'"'' 

"  But  all  this  time,"  said  the  traveller,  "  you  have 
not  told  me  of  your  reasons  for  getting  the  grid- 
irons." 

"  Oh  !  wait  a  bit,"  said  Ror\' ;  "  sure  it  's  that 
I  'm  comin'  to.      Where  's  this  I  was  ?  " 

"  You  were  running  down  the  Alullingar  girls' 
legs,"   said  the  traveller. 

"  I  see  vou  're  sharp  at  an  answer  yourself,  sir," 
said  Rorv.  "  But  what  I  mane  is,  where  did  I  lave 
off  tellin'  vou  about  the  present  for  the  priest  ?  — 
was  n't  it  at  the  bootmaker's  shop  ?  —  yes,  that  was 
it.  Well,  sir,  on  laving  the  shop,  as  soon  as  I  kem 
to  myself  afther  the  fellow's  impidince,  I  begun  to 
think  what  was  the  next  best  thing  I  could  get  for 
his  reverence  ;  and  with  that,  while  I  was  thinkin' 
about  it,  I  seen  a  very  respectable  owld  gintleman 
goin'  by,  with  the  most  beautiful  stick  in  his  hand  I 
ever  set  my  eyes  on,  and  a  goolden  head  to  it  that 
was  worth  its  weight  in  goold  ;  and  it  gev  him  such 
an  iligant  look  altogether,  that  says  I  to  myself,  '  It 's 
the  ver)'  thing  for  Father  Kinshela,  if  I  could  get 
sitch  another.'  And  so  I  wint  lookin'  about  me 
every  shop  I  seen  as  I  wint  by,  and  at  last,  in  a 
sthreet  thev  cal  Dame  Sthreet  —  and,  by  the  same 
token,  I  did  n't  know  why  they  called  it  Dame  Sthreet 
till  I  ax'd  j  and  I  was  towld  they  called  it  Dame 
Sthreet  bekase  the  ladies  were  so  fond  o'  walkin' 
there  ;  —  and  lovely  craythurs  they  wor  !  and  I  can't 
b'lieve  that  the  town  is  such  an  onwholesome  place 
to  live  in,  for  most  o'  the  ladies  I  seen  there  had  the 
most  beautiful  rosy  cheeks  I  ever  clapt  my  eyes  upon 
—  and  the  beautiful  rowlin'  eyes  o'  them  !  Well,  it 
was  in  Dame  Sthreet,  as  I  was  sayin',  that  I  kem  to 
a  shop  where  there  was  a   power  o'   sticks,  and    so 


26  Rory  O'More 

I  wint  in  and  looked  at  thim  ;  and  a  man  in  the  place 
kem  to  me  and  ax'd  me  if  I  wanted  a  cane  ?  '  No,' 
says  I,  '  I  don't  want  a  cane ;  it  's  a  stick  I  want,' 
says  I.  '  A  cane,  you  mane^  says  he.  '■  No,'  says  I, 
'  it 's  a  stick  '  —  for  I  was  detarmined  to  have  no  cane, 
but  to  stick  to  the  stick.  '  Here  's  a  nate  one,'  says 
he.  '  I  don't  want  a  nate  one,'  says  I,  '  but  a  re- 
sponsible one,'  says  I, '  'Faith  !  '  says  he,  '  if  an  Irish- 
man's stick  was  responsible,  it  would  have  a  great 
dale  to  answer  for'  —  and  he  laughed  a  power.  I 
did  n't  know  myself  what  he  meant,  but  that 's  what 
he  said." 

"  It  was  because  you  asked  for  a  responsible  stick," 
said  the  traveller. 

"  And  why  would  n't  I,"  said  Rory,  "  when  it  was 
for  his  reverence  I  wanted  it  ?  Why  would  n't  he 
have  a  nice-lookin',  respectable,^  responsible  stick  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  traveller. 

"  Well,  I  picked  out  one  that  looked  to  my  likin' 
—  a  good  substantial  stick,  with  an  ivory  top  to  it  — 
for  I  seen  that  the  goold-headed  ones  was  so  dear 
that  I  could  n't  come  up  to  them ;  and  so  says  I, 
'  Give  me  a  howld  o'  that,'  says  I  —  and  I  tuk  a  grip 
iv  it.  I  never  was  so  surprised  in  my  life.  I  thought 
to  get  a  good,  brave  handful  of  a  solid  stick,  but,  my 
dear,  it  was  well  it  did  n't  fly  out  o'  my  hand  a'most,  it 
was  so  light.  '  Phew  !  '  says  I,  '  what  sort  of  a  stick 
is  this  ?  '  'I  tell  you  it 's  not  a  stick,  but  a  cane,'  says 
he.  '  'Faith  !  I  b'lieve  you,'  says  I.  *  You  see  how 
good  and  light  it  is,'  says  he.  Think  o'  that,  sir  !  — 
to  call  a  stick  good  and  light  —  as  if  there  could  be 
any  good  in  life  in  a  stick  that  was  n't  heavy,  and 
could  sthreck  a  good  blow  !  '  Is  it  jokin'  you  are  ?  ' 
says    I.     'Don't    you    feel    it    yourself?'    says    he. 

1  Responsible  is  always  applied  by  the  Irish  peasantry  in  the 
sense  of  respectable. 


Rory  O'More  27 

'  Throth,  I  can  hardly  feel  it  at  all,'  says  I.  '  Sure 
that  's  the  beauty  of  it,'  says  he.  Think  o'  the  igno- 
rant vagabone  !  —  to  call  a  stick  a  beauty  that  was  as 
as  light  a'most  as  a  bulrush  !  '  And  so  you  can 
hardly  feel  it!'  says  he,  grinnin'.  '  Yis,  indeed,' 
says  I  ;  '  and  what  's  worse,  I  don't  think  I  could 
make  any  one  else  feel  it  either.'  '  Oh  !  you  want  a 
stick  to  bate  people  with  !  '  says  he.  *  To  be  sure,' 
says  I  ;  '  sure  that  's  the  use  of  a  stick.'  '  To  knock 
the  sinses  out  o'  people  !  *  says  he,  grinnin'  again. 
'  Sartinly,'  says  I,  '  if  they  're  saucy  '  —  lookin  hard 
at  him  at  the  same  time, '  Well,  these  is  only  walkin'- 
sticks,'  says  he.  *  Throth,  you  may  say  runnin- 
sticks,'  says  I,  '  for  you  dare  n't  stand  before  any  one 
with  sich  a  thraneen  as  that  in  your  fist.'  '  Well, 
pick  out  the  heaviest  o'  them  you  plaze,'  says  he  ; 
'take  your  choice.'  Sol  wint  pokin'  and  rummagin' 
among  thim,  and,  if  you  believe  me,  there  was  n't  a 
stick  in  their  whole  shop  worth  a  kick  in  the  shins  — 
divil  a  one  !  " 

"  But  why  did  you  require  such  a  heavy  stick  for 
the  priest  ?  " 

"  Bekase  there  is  not  a  man  in  the  parish  wants  it 
more,"  said  Rory. 

"  Is  he  so  quarrelsome,  then  ?  "  asked  the  traveller. 

"No,  but  the  greatest  o'  pacemakers,"  said  Rory. 

"  Then  what  does  he  want  the  heavy  stick  for  ?  " 

"  For  wallopin'  his  flock,  to  be  sure,"  said  Rory. 

"Walloping!"  said  the  traveller,  choking  with 
laughter. 

"Oh!  you  may  laugh,"  said  Rory;  "but,  'pon 
my  sowl  !  you  would  n't  laugh  if  you  wor  undhcr  his 
hand,  for  he  has  a  brave  heavy  one,  God  bless  him 
and  spare  him  to  us  !  " 

"And  what  is  all  this  walloping  for?  " 

"Why,  sir,  whin  we  have  a  bit  of  a  fight,  for  fun, 


28  Rory  0' More 

or  the  regular  faction  one,  at  the  fair,  his  reverence 
sometimes  hears  of  it,  and  comes  av  coorse." 

"  Good  God  !  "  said  the  traveller  in  real  astonish- 
ment, "does  the  priest  join  the  battle?  " 

"  No,  no,  no,  sir  !  I  see  you  're  quite  a  sthranger 
in  the  counthry.  The  priest  join  it !  —  Oh  !  by  no 
manes.  But  he  comes  and  stops  it ;  and,  av  coorse, 
the  only  wzy  he  can  stop  it  is,  to  ride  into  thim,  and 
wallop  thim  all  round  before  him,  and  disparse  thim 
—  scatther  thim  like  chaff  before  the  wind ;  and  it 's 
the  best  o'  sticks  he  requires  for  that  same." 

"  But  might  he  not  have  his  heavy  stick  on  pur- 
pose for  that  service,  and  make  use  of  a  lighter  one 
on  other  occasions  ?  " 

"  As  for  that  matther,  sir,"  said  Rory,  "  there  's  no 
knowin'  the  minit  he  might  want  it,  for  he  is  often 
necessiated  to  have  recoorse  to  it.  It  might  be,  going 
through  the  village,  the  public-house  is  too  full,  and 
in  he  goes  and  dhrives  them  out.  Oh  !  it  would  de- 
light your  heart  to  see  the  style  he  clears  a  public- 
house  in,  in  no  time  !  " 

"  But  would  n't  his  speaking  to  them  answer  the 
purpose  as  well  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  !  he  does  n't  like  to  throw  away  his  dis- 
coorse  on  thim  ;  and  why  should  he  ?  —  he  keeps  that 
for  the  blessed  althar  on  Sunday,  which  is  a  fitter 
place  for  it :  besides,  he  does  not  like  to  be  sevare 
on  us." 

"  Severe  !  "  said  the  traveller  in  surprise  ;  "  why, 
have  n't  you  said  that  he  thrashes  you  round  on  all 
occasions  ? " 

"  Yis,  sir ;  but  what  o'  that  ?  —  sure  that 's  nothin' 
to  his  tongue  —  his  words  is  like  swoords  or  razhors, 
I  may  say  :  we  're  used  to  a  lick  of  a  stick  every  day, 
but  not  to  sich  language  as  his  reverence  sometimes 
murthers  us  with  whin  we  displaze  him.     Oh  !   it 's 


Rory  0' More  29 

terrible,  so  it  is,  to  have  the  weight  of  his  tongue 
on  you  !  Throth  !  I  'd  rather  let  him  bate  me  from 
this  till  to-morrow,  than  have  one  angrv  word  from 
nim. 

"  I  see,  then,  he  must  have  a  heavy  stick,"  said  the 
traveller. 

"To  be  sure  he  must,  sir,  at  all  times;  and  that 
was  the  raison  I  was  so  particular  in  the  shop  ;  and 
afther  spendin'  over  an  hour — would  vou  b'lieve  it  ? 
—  divil  a  stick  I  could  get  in  the  place  fit  for  a  child, 
much  less  a  man  —  all  poor  contimptible  things;  and 
so  the  man  I  was  talkin'  to  says  to  me  at  last,  '  It 's 
odd  that  in  all  these  sticks  there  is  not  one  to  plaze 
you.'  '  You  know  nothin'  about  it,'  says  I.  'You  'd 
betther  be  otF,  and  take  up  no  more  o'  my  time,'  savs 
he.  '  As  for  your  time,'  says  I,  '  I  'd  be  sorry  to  idle 
anybody ;  but  in  the  regard  of  knovvin'  a  stick,  I  '11 
give  up  to  no  man,'  says  I.  '  Look  at  that ! '  savs  I, 
howldin'  up  my  own  purty  bit  o'  blackthorn  I  had  in 
my  fist.  '  Would  you  compare  your  owld  batther'd 
stick,'  says  he,  —  (there  was  a  few  chips  out  of  it,  for 
it  is  an  owld  friend,  as  you  may  see),  —  'would  you 
compare  it,'  says  he,  '  to  this  ? '  —  howldin'  up  one  of 
his  bulrushes.  '  By  gor,'  savs  I,  '  if  you  like  to  thrv 
a  turn  with  me,  I  '11  let  you  know  which  is  the  best !  ' 
says  I.  '  You  know  nothin'  about  it,'  says  he  — 
'  this  is  the  best  o'  sugar  canes.'  '  Bv  mv  sowl, 
thin!'  says  I,  'you'll  get  no  sugar  out  o'  this,  I 
promise  you! — but  at  the  '-.ame  time,  the  divil  a 
sweeter  bit  o'  timber  in  the  wide  world  than  the  same 
blackthorn  —  and  if  you'd  like  to  taste  it  you  may 
thry.'  '  No,'  says  he ;  '  I  'm  no  happy  cure,'  —  (or 
somethin'  he  said  about  cure).  '  Thin  if  you  're  not 
aisy  to  cure,'  says  I, '  you  'd  betther  not  fight ; '  which 
is  thrue  —  and  some  men  is  unwholesome,  and 
mustn't  fight  by   raison  of  it  —  and,   indeed,   it's    a 


30  Rory  O'More 

great  loss  to  a  man  who  has  n't  flesh  that 's  aisy  to 
hale." 

"  I  'm  sure  of  it,"  said  the  traveller.  "  But  about 
the  gridiron  ?  " 

"  Sure  I  'm  tellin'  you  about  it,"  said  Rory  ;  "  only 
I  'm  not  come  to  it  yet.  You  see,"  continued  he,  "  I 
was  so  disgusted  with  them  shopkeepers  in  Dublin, 
that  my  heart  was  fairly  broke  with  their  ignorance, 
and  I  seen  they  knew  nothin'  at  all  about  what  I 
wanted,  and  so  I  came  away  without  any  thing  for 
his  reverence,  though  it  was  on  my  mind  all  this  day 
on  the  road  ;  and  comin'  through  the  last  town  in  the 
middle  o'  the  rain,  I  thought  of  a  gridiron." 

"  A  very  natural  thing  to  think  of  in  a  shower  o' 
rain,"  said  the  traveller. 

"No,  'twas  n't  the  rain  made  me  think  of  it  —  I 
think  it  was  God  put  a  gridiron  in  my  heart,  seein' 
that  it  was  a  present  for  the  priest  I  intended;  and 
when  I  thought  of  it,  it  came  into  my  head,  afther, 
that  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  sit  on,  for  to  keep  one 
out  of  the  rain,  that  was  ruinatin'  my  cordheroys  on 
the  top  o'  the  coach ;  so  I  kept  my  eye  out  as  we 
dhrove  along  up  the  sthreet,  and  sure  enough  what 
should  I  see  at  a  shop  half  way  down  the  town  but 
a  gridiron  hanging  up  at  the  door !  and  so  I  went 
back  to  get  it." 

"But  isn't  a  gridiron  an  odd  present?  —  hasn't 
his  reverence  one  already  ?  " 

"He  had,  sir,  before  it  was  bruk,  —  but  that's 
what  I  remembered,  for  I  happened  to  be  up  at  his 
place  one  day,  sittin'  in  the  kitchen,  when  Molly  was 
brillin'  some  mate  an  it  for  his  reverence;  and  while 
she  jist  turned  about  to  get  a  pinch  o'  salt  to  shake 
over  it,  the  dog  that  was  in  the  place  made  a  dart  at 
the  gridiron  on  the  fire,  and  threwn  it  down,  and  up 
he  whips  the  mate,  before  one  of  us  could  stop  him. 


fi/lu  ^///i'/ ,^«'^  [yA-frJt^f  —^M^f^' 


Rory  O'More  31 

With  that  Molly  whips  up  the  gridiron,  and  says  she, 
'  Bad  luck  to  you,  you  disrespectful  baste !  would 
nothin'  sarve  you  but  the  priest's  dinner  ? '  and  she 
made  a  crack  o'  the  gridiron  at  him.  '  As  you  have 
the  mate,  you  shall  have  the  gridiron  too,'  says  she ; 
and  with  that  she  gave  him  such  a  rap  on  the  head 
with  it  that  the  bars  flew  out  of  it,  and  his  head  went 
through  it,  and  away  he  pulled  it  out  of  her  hands, 
and  ran  off  with  the  gridiron  hangin'  round  his  neck 
like  a  necklace  —  and  he  went  mad  a'most  with  it; 
for  though  a  kettle  to  a  dog's  tail  is  nath'ral,  a  grid- 
iron round  his  neck  is  very  surprisin'  to  him ;  and 
away  he  tatthered  over  the  counthry,  till  there  was  n't 
a  taste  o'  the  gridiron  left  together." 

"  So  you  thought  of  supplying  its  place  ?  "  said  the 
traveller. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Rory.  "  I  don't  think  I  could  do 
betther," 

"  But  what  did  you  get  two  for  ?  "  said  the  travel- 
ler. 

"  Why,  sir,  when  I  thought  of  how  good  a  sate  it 
would  make,  I  thought  of  you  at  the  same  time." 

"  That  was  very  kind  of  you,"  said  the  traveller, 
"  more  particularly  as  I  have  done  nothing  to  deserve 
such  attention." 

"  You  '11  excuse  me  there,  sir,  if  you  plaze,"  said 
Rory,  "you  behaved  to  me,  sir,  like  a  gintleman,  and 
the  word  of  civility  is  never  thrown  away." 

'■*■  Every  gentleman,  I  hope,"  said  the  traveller, 
"  would  do  the  same." 

"  Every  7-ale  gintleman,  certainly,"  said  Rory,  — 
"  but  there  's  many  o'  them  that  calls  themselves  gin- 
tlemen  that  does  n't  do  the  like,  and  it 's  the  stiff 
word  they  have  for  us,  and  the  hard  word  maybe  — 
and  they  think  good  clothes  makes  all  the  differ,  jist 
as  if  a  man  had  n't  a  heart  undher  a  frieze  coat." 


32  Rory  O'More 

"  I  'm  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  the  traveller;  "but  I 
hope  such  conduct  is  not  common." 

"  Throth  there  's  more  of  it  than  there  ought  to 
be,"  said  Rory.  "  But  thim  that  is  the  conthrairy  is 
never  losers  by  it  —  and  so  by  me  and  you,  sir, — 
and  sure  it 's  a  dirty  dog  I  'd  be,  to  see  the  gintleman 
beside  me  sittin'  in  wet,  that  gave  me  a  share  of  his 
paraplew,  and  the  civil  word,  that  is  worth  more  — 
for  the  hardest  rain  only  wets  the  body,  but  the  hard 
word  cuts  the  heart." 

"  I  have  reason  to  be  obliged  to  you,"  said  the 
traveller,  "  and  I  assure  you  I  am  so  ;  but  I  should 
like  to  know  what  you  '11  do  with  the  second 
gridiron." 

"  Oh,  I  '11  engage  I  '11  find  use  for  it,"  said  Rory. 

"  Why,  indeed,"  said  the  traveller,  "  from  the  ex- 
ample you  have  given  of  your  readiness  of  invention, 
I  should  not  doubt  that  you  will, —  for  certainly,  you 
have  made,  on  the  present  occasion,  a  most  original 
application  of  the  utensil." 

"  'Faith,  I  daar  say,"  said  Rory,  "  we  are  the  first 
mortials  wor  ever  on  a  gridiron." 

"Since  the  days  of  Saint  Laurence,"  said  the 
traveller. 

"  Why,  used  Saint  Larrance,  God  bless  him  !  sit 
on  a  gridiron  ?  "   said   Rorv. 

"No,"  said  the  traveller;  "but  he  was  broiled 
upon  one." 

"  Oh  the  thieves  o'  the  world  to  brile  him  !  —  and 
did  they  ate  him  afther,  sir?  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  traveller,  —  "  they  only  broiled 
him.  But  I  thought  you  good  Catholics  all  knew 
about  the  martyrs  ?  " 

"  And  so  we  do,  sir,  mostlv  ;  —  but  I  never  heerd 
of  Saint  Larrance  afore  ;  or  if  I  did,  I  'm  disremem- 
bered  of  it." 


Rory  O'More  33 

"  But  vou  do  know  about  most  of  them,  you  say  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  sartinly,  sir.  Sure  I  often  heerd  how 
Saint  Stephen  was  hunted  up  and  down ;  which  is 
the  raison  we  begin  to  hunt  always  on  Saint  Stephen's 
Day." 

"  You  forget  there  too,"  said  the  traveller :  "•  Saint 
Stephen  was  stoned." 

"To  be  sure,  sir,  —  sure  I  know  he  was:  did  n't 
I  say  they  run  afther  him  throwin'  stones  at  him,  the 
blackguards!  till  they  killed  him  —  huntin'  him  for 
his  life  ?  —  Oh,  thin  but  was  n't  it  a  cruel  thing  to  be 
a  saint  in  thim  haythen  times,  to  be  runnin'  the 
world  over,  the  poor  marchers,  as  they  might  well  be 
called  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  traveller;  "those  were  days  of 
trial  to  the  saints." 

"  'Faith,  I  go  bail  they  never  gave  them  any  thrial 
at  all,"  said  Rory,  "  but  jist  murthered  them  v/ithout 
judge  or  jury,  the  vagabones  !  —  though,  indeed,  for 
the  matther  o'  that,  neither  judge  nor  jury  will  do  a 
man  much  good  while  there  's  false  witnesses  to  be 
had  to  swear  what  they  're  paid  for,  and  maybe  the 
jury  and  the  judge  only  too  ready  to  b'lieve  them  ; 
and  maybe  a  boy  is  hanged  in  their  own  minds  before 
he  's  put  on  his  thrial  at  all,  unless  he  has  a  good 
friend  in  some  great  man  who  does  n't  choose  to  let 
him  die." 

"  Is  it  possible,"  asked  the  traveller,  "  that  they 
manage  matters  here  in    this  way  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  they  do,  sir  ;  —  and  why  would  n't  a 
gintleman  take  care  of  his  people  if  it  was  plazin'  to 
him  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  laws  and  not  the  gentleman  should  be 
held  in  respect,"  said  the  traveller :  "  the  poor 
man's  life  should  never  depend  upon  the  rich  man's 
pleasure." 

VOL.  I.  —  3 


CHAPTER    III 

A    PEEP    INTO    IRELAND    FORTY    YEARS    AGO. HINTS 

FOR     CHARGING     JURIES, EVERY     LANDLORD     HIS 

OWN  LAWGIVER. PRIDE  OF  BIRTH.  A  JOCU- 
LAR PRINCE  ON  FOOT,  AND  A  POPULAR  PEER 
ON    HORSEBACK 

A  TRAIN  of  musing,  on  the  traveller's  part, 
rapidly  succeeded  his  last  remark ;  and  as  he 
went  jolting  along  unconsciously  over  the  wretched 
road,  he  was  mentally  floundering  through  the  deep 
ruts  of  political  speculation,  and  looking  forward, 
through  the  warm  haze  which  a  young  imagination 
flings  round  its  objects,  to  that  happier  time  when 
Ireland  should  enjoy  a  loftier  position  than  that  im- 
plied by  what  Rory  O'More  had  said.  But,  alas  ! 
instead  of  this  brilliant  advent,  blood  and  crime,  and 
all  the  fiercer  passions  that  degrade  human  nature, 
making  man  more  like  a  demon  than  a  human  being, 
were  the  futurity  which  Ireland  was  doomed  to  ex- 
perience;  and  while  the  enthusiasm  of  the  young 
traveller  looked  forward  to  the  heights  where  his 
imagination  enthroned  his  country's  fortunes,  he 
overlooked  and  saw  not  the  valley  of  blood  that  lay 
between. 

And  forty  years  (almost  half  a  century)  have  passed 
away  since  the  young  enthusiast  indulged  in  his 
vision,  and  still  is  Ireland  the  theme  of  fierce 
discussion. 


Rory  O'More  35 


It  was  Rory  O'More's  remark  upon  the  nature  of 
judicial  trials  in  Ireland  that  had  started  the  trav^eller 
on  his  train  of  musing.  An  Irishman  by  birth,  he 
had  long  been  absent  from  his  native  land,  and  was 
not  aware  of  its  internal  details  ;  and  that  such  a 
state  of  feudality  as  that  implied  by  Rory's  observa- 
tion could  exist  in  Ireland,  while  England  enjoyed  the 
fullest  measure  of  her  constitution,  might  well  surprise 
him  :  —  but  so  it  was. 

The  period  to  which  this  relates  was  1797,  when 
distrust,  political  prejudice,  and  religious  rancour, 
were  the  terrible  triumvirate  that  assumed  dominion 
over  men's  minds.  In  such  a  state  of  things,  the 
temple  of  justice  could  scarcely  be  called  a  sanctuary, 
and  shelter  was  to  be  found  rather  beneath  the  mantle 
of  personal  influence  than  under  the  ermine  of  the 
judge.  Even  to  this  day,  in  Ireland,  feudal  influence 
is  in  existence  ;  but  forty  years  ago,  it  superseded  the 
laws  of  the  land. 

So  much  was  this  the  case,  that  it  is  worth  record- 
ing an  anecdote  of  the  period  which  is  fact  :  the 
names  it  is  unnecessary   to  give. 

A  certain  instance  of  brutal  assault,  causing  loss 
of  life,  had  occurred,  so  aggravated  in  its  character, 
that  the  case  almost  amounted  to  murder,  and  the 
offender,  who  stood  his  trial  for  the  ofFence,  it  was 
expected,  would  be  sentenced  to  transportation,  should 
he  e-jcape  the  forfeiture  of  his  life  to  the  law.  The 
evidence  on  his  trial  was  clear  and  convincing,  and 
all  attempts  at  defence  had  failed,  and  the  persons 
assembled  in  the  court  anticipated  a  verdict  of  guilty 
on  the  heaviest  counts  in  the  indictment.  The  pros- 
ecution and  defence  had  closed,  and  the  judge  had 
nearly  summed  up  the  evidence,  and  was  charging 
the  jury  directly  against  the  prisoner,  when  a  bustle 
was  perceived  in  the  body  of  the  court.      The  judge 


36  Rory  O'More 

ordered  the  crier  to  command  silence,  and  that 
officer  obeyed  his  commands  without  producing  any 
effect.  The  judge  was  about  to  direct  a  second  and 
more  peremptory  command  for  silence,  when  a  note 
was  handed  up  to  the  bench,  and  the  judge  himself, 
instead  of  issuing  his  command  for  silence,  became 
silent  himself,  and  perused  the  note  with  great  atten- 
tion. Pie  pursued  his  charge  to  the  jury  no  further, 
but  sent  up  a  small  slip  of  paper  to  the  foreman, 
who  forthwith  held  some  whispered  counsel  with  his 
brother  jurors  ;  and  when  their  heads,  that  had  been 
huddled  together  in  consultation,  separated,  and  they 
resumed  their  former  positions,  the  judge  then  con- 
tinued his  address  to  them  thus, — 

"  I  have  endeavoured  to  point  out  to  you,  gentle- 
men of  the  jury,  the  doubts  of  this  case,  but  I  do  not 
think  it  necessary  to  proceed  any  further ;  —  I  have 
such  confidence  in  your  discrimination  and  good 
sense,  that  I  now  leave  the  case  entirely  in  your 
hands  :  —  if  you  are  of  opinion  that  what  you  have 
been  put  in  possession  of  in  the  prisoner's  favour  coun- 
terbalances the  facts  sworn  to  against  him,  you  will 
of  course  acquit  him  —  and  any  doubts  you  have,  I 
need  not  tell  you  should  be  thrown  into  the  scale  of 
mercy.  It  is  the  proud  pre-eminence,  gentlemen,  of 
our  criminal  laws  —  laws,  gentlemen,  which  are  part 
and  parcel  of  the  glorious  constitution  that  is  the 
wonder  and  the  envy  of  surrounding  nations,  that  a 
prisoner  is  to  have  the  benefit  of  every  doubt ;  and 
therefore,  if  you  think  proper,  of  course  you  will  find 
the  prisoner  not  guilty." 

"  Certainly,  my  lord,"  said  the  foreman  of  the  jury, 
"  we  are  of  your  lordship's  opinion,  and  we  say  not 

GUILTY." 

The  fact  was,  the  great  man  of  the  district  where 
the  crime  had  been  committed,  whose  serf  the  pris- 


Rory  O'More 


oner  was,  had  sent  up  his  compliments  to  the  judge 
and  jury,  stating  the  prisoner  to  be  a  most  useful  per- 
son to  him,  and  that  he  would  feel  extremely  obliged  if 
they  would  acquit  him.  This  ruffian  was  a  sort  of 
bold,  sporting,  dare-devil  character,  whose  services 
in  breaking-in  dogs,  and  attending  his  master  and  his 
parties  on  wild  mountain-shooting  and  fishing  excur- 
sions, were  invaluable  to  the  squire,  and  human  life, 
which  this  fellow  had  sacrificed,  was  nothing  in  the 
scale  when  weighed  against  the  squire's  diversion. 
This  will  scarcely  be  credited  in  the  present  day, 
nevertheless  it  is  a  fact. 

Another  occurrence  of  the  time  shows  the  same 
disregard  of  the  law  ;  though  the  case  is  by  no 
means  so  bad,  inasmuch  as  the  man  was  only  taken 
up  for  an  offence,  but  was  not  tried  —  he  was  only 
rescued  to  save  him  that  trouble.  He  had  committed 
some  off'ence  which  entitled  him  to  a  lodging  in  the 
county  gaol,  and  was  accordingly  taken  into  custody 
by  the  proper  authorities  ;  but,  as  the  county  town 
was  too  distant  to  send  him  to  at  once,  he  was 
handed  over  to  the  care  of  a  military  detachment 
that  occupied  a  small  village  in  the  neighbourhood. 
To  the  little  barrack-yard  or  guard-house  of  this  out- 
post he  was  committed ;  but  he  did  not  remain  there 
long,  for  his  mountain  friends  came  down  in  great 
numbers  and  carried  him  off  in  triumph,  having 
forced  the  barracks.  The  moment  the  colonel  of 
the  regiment,  a  detachment  of  which  occupied  the 
post,  received  intelligence  of  the  circumstance,  he 
marched  the  greater  part  of  his  men  to  the  place, 
vowing  he  would  drag  the  prisoner  who  had  been 
committed  to  the  care  of  his  troops  from  the  very 
heart  of  his  mountains,  and  that  neither  man,  woman, 
nor  child  should  be  spared  who  dared  to  protect  him 
from    capture.       While    the    colonel,    who    was    an 


43^57 


38  Rory  0' More 

Englishman,  was  foaming  with  indignation  at  this 
contempt  of  all  order  displayed  by  the  Irish,  Mr. 
French  waited  upon  him  and  asked  him  to  dinner. 
The  English  colonel  said,  he  would  be  most  happy 
at  any  other  time,  but  at  present  it  was  impossible  ; 
that  if  he  could,  he  would  neither  eat,  drink,  nor 
sleep,  till  he  had  vindicated  the  laws. 

"  Pooh,  pooh  !  my  dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  French, 
"  it  is  all  very  well  to  talk  about  the  laws  in  Eng- 
land, but  they  know  nothing  about  them  here." 

"  Then  it 's  time,  sir,  they  should  be  taught,"  said 
the  colonel. 

"  Well,  don't  be  in  a  hurry,  at  least,  my  dear  sir," 
said  Mr.  French.  "  I  assure  you  the  poor  people 
mean  no  disrespect  to  the  laws  ;  it  is  in  pure  igno- 
rance they  have  made  this  mistake." 

"  Mistake  !  "  said  the  colonel. 

"  'Pon  my  soul !  nothing  more,"  said  Mr.  French  ; 
"  and  if  you  think  to  make  them  wise  at  the  point  of 
the  bayonet,  you  '11  find  yourself  mistaken :  you  '11 
have  the  whole  country  in  an  uproar,  and  do  no  good 
after  all ;  for  once  these  fellows  have  given  you  the 
slip,  you  might  as  well  go  hunt  after  mountain- 
goats." 

"  But,  consistently  with  my  duty,  sir " 

"  Your  duty  will  keep  till  to-morrow,  colonel 
dear,  and  you  '11  meet  three  or  four  other  magistrates, 
as  well  as  me,  at  my  house,  who  will  tell  you  the 
same  that  I  have  done.  You  '11  be  wiser  to-mor- 
row, depend  upon  it: — so  come  home  with  me  to 
dinner." 

The  colonel,  who  was  a  man  of  deliberation,  rode 
home  with  Mr.  French,  who  talked  him  over  as  they 
went  along  :  — "  You  see,  my  dear  sir,  how  is  it 
possible  you  should  know  the  people  as  well  as  we 
do  ?     Believe    me,  every   landlord    knows    his    own 


Rory  0' More  39 

tenantry  best,  and  we  make  it  a  point  here  never  to 
interfere  with  each  other  in  that  particular.  Now, 
the  fellow  thev  took  away  from  your  men " 

"  Curse  them !  "   said  the  colonel. 

"  Keep  yourself  cool,  my  dear  colonel.  That 
fellow,  for  instance  —  now  he  is  one  of  Blake's 
men  :  and  if  Blake  wants  the  fellow  to  be  hanged, 
he  '11  send  him   in  to  you." 

"Send  him  in!  —  why,  sir,  if  my  regiment  could 
not  keep  the  rascal,  what  chance  has  Mr.  Blake  of 
making  him  prisoner  ?  " 

"  I  said  nothing,  colonel,  of  making  him  prisoner  : 
I  said,  and  still  say,  that  if  Blake  wants  him  to  be 
hanged,  he  '11  send  him  in." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  my  good  sir,  that  he  '11 
desire  him  to  come  in  and  be  hanged  r  " 

"  Precisely." 

"  And  will  he  come  ?  " 

"  Most  undoubtedly,  if  Blake  desires  him." 

The  colonel  dined  with  Mr.  French  that  day  :  the 
day  following  the  regiment  was  marched  back  to 
head  quarters,  —  and  Blake  did  not  send  in  his  man 
to  be  hanged.      So  much   for  feudality  ! 

But  the  young  traveller  knew  not  these  facts,  and 
he  was  awakened  from  the  reverie  in  which  he  was 
indulging  by  the  blowing  of  a  long  tin  horn,  announc- 
ing the  arrival  of  the  coach  at  a  dirty  little  town, 
where  it  was  to  stop  for  the  night.  It  drove  up  to 
what  was  called  a  hotel,  round  the  door  of  which, 
though  still  raining  heavily,  a  crowd  of  beggars  stood, 
so  thick,  that  the  passengers  could  hardly  press  their 
way  through  them  into  the  house  ;  and  while  they 
were  thus  struggling  for  admittance,  obstreperous 
prayers  assailed  their  ears  on  all  sides,  in  horrid  dis- 
cord and  strange  variety  —  for  their  complaints  and 
their  blessings  became  so  jumbled  together  as  to  pro- 


40  Rory  O'More 

duce  a  ludicrous  effect.  There  were  blind  and  lame, 
broken  bones,  widows  and  orphans,  &c.  &c. 

"  Pity  the  blind  !   and  may  you  never  see " 

"  To-morrow  morning  won't  find  me  alive  if  you 
don't  relieve " 

"  The  guard  will  give  me  something,  your  honour, 
if  you  '11  only  bid  him " 

"  Be  quiet,  you  divil !  and  don't  taze  the  gintle- 
man  !     Sure  he  has " 


"  Three  fatherless  childher " 

"  And  broke  his  two  legs " 

"  That  is  stone  blind " 

"And  met  a  dhreadful  accident ! —and  sure  the 
house  fell  on  him,  and  he  's  lyin'  undher  it  these 
three  weeks  without  a  bit  to  ate,  but " 

"  Three  fatherless  childher  and  a  dissolute 
widow " 

"  Lying  on  the  broad  of  her  back,  with  nothing  on 
her  but " 

"  The  small-pox,  your  honour !  " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake !  let  me  pass,"  said  the 
young  traveller,  who  had  a  horror  of  the  small-pox  ; 
and  pressing  through  the  crowd  that  environed  him 
into  the  house,  he  entered  the  first  room  he  saw,  and 
suddenly  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

As  soon,  however,  as  he  recovered  his  first  alarm 
at  the  mention  of  the  terrible  disease  he  so  much 
dreaded,  he  called  for  the  waiter,  and  made  inquiries 
for  Rory.  Finding  he  was  in  the  house,  he  sent  him 
a  message  to  say  he  would  be  glad  to  see  him  ;  and 
on  Rory  making  his  appearance,  he  requested  him 
to  be  seated,  and  asked  him  would  he  have  something 
to  drink  ? 

Rory  declined  it,  until  the  traveller  said  that  he 
himself  would  join  him  in  a  potation  after  their 
wetting ;  and  when  Rory  understood  that  the  travel- 


Rory  O'More  41 

ler  meant  they  should  sit  down  together  over  their 
glasses,  he  accepted  the  offer  with  modest  thankful- 
ness, and  expressed  his  acknowledgment  for  the 
honour  done  him  by  his  travelling  companion. 

In  the  course  of  their  conversation,  the  young 
traveller  found,  that  with  all  the  apparent  simplicity 
of  Ror)',  he  was  not  deficient  in  intelligence  ;  and 
that  the  oddity  of  the  incidents  in  which  he  had 
described  himself  as  being  an  actor,  arose  more  from 
the  novelty  of  his  position  in  a  large  city,  than  in 
any  inherent  stupidity.  He  became  possessed  of  his 
name  also,  and  Rory  could  not  help  showing  his 
pride  in  having  one  so  good ;  for  while  he  affected 
to  laugh  at  his  proud  descent,  it  was  quite  clear  he 
had  a  firm  belief  in   it. 

"  I  suppose,  sir,  you  have  heerd  tell  of  one  Rory 
O'More  in  the  owld   times  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;   King  of  Leinster,  you  mean." 

"So  they  say,  sir,  —  that  he  and  his  people  before 
him  wor  kings  time  out  o'  mind,  until  bad  fortune 
came  to  thim,  and  they  went  to  the  bad  entirely; 
and  the  English  dhruv  thim  out,  bekaze  they  had 
a  way  of  puttin'  between  people  ;  and  while  they 
were  squabblin'  one  with  the  other,  the  English  used 
to  come  in  and  do  them  both  out  —  like  the  owld 
story  of  the  lawyer  and  the  oysthers.  Well,  when 
once  they  were  dhruv  out,  they  went  witherin'  and 
dwindlin'  down  by  degrees  ;  and  at  last  they  had  n't 
a  fut  of  land  left  thim,  nor  even  a  house  over  their 
heads;  and  so  we  wor  reduced   that  way,  sir." 

"  Then  you  consider  yourself  the  descendant  of 
the  O'More  ?  "   said  the  traveller. 

*'  Throth,  sir,  and  they  say  that  we  are  the  owld 
O'Mores,  — but  sure  I  laugh  at  it." 

"  But  would  n't  you  be  angry  if  any  one  else 
laughed  at  it?  " 


42  Rory  O'More 

"  I  dunna  but  I  might,"  said  Rory,  with  much 
ingenuousness. 

"  And  why  do  you  laugh  at  it  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  afther  all,  sir,  sure  it  's  quare  enough  for  a 
man  to  be  talking  of  his  great  relations  that  was 
formerly,  when  at  this  present  he  is  only  a  poor 
workin'  man  ;  and  if  I  was  ever  so  much  the  thrue 
discindant  of  Rory  O'More,  sure  I  can't  forget  what 
I  am  now." 

"  You  may  be  the  representative  of  the  house  for 
all  that,"  said  the  traveller. 

"  Oh  !  as  for  the  house,"  said  Rory,  "  'pon  my 
sowl  !  there 's  a  cruel  differ  there  betune  us :  the 
right  Rory  O'More  hved  in  Dunamaise  —  that  was 
something  like  a  house  !  and  I  have  only  a  poor 
cabin  to  live  in." 

"  But  still  you  may  be  the  true  descendant  of  the 
right  Rory,  as  you  call  him,"  said  the  traveller,  who 
wished  to  probe  the  feelings  of  the  peasant  on  this 
subject,  and  discover  how  far  the  pride  of  birth  could 
survive  loss  of  station  :  and  he  was  pleased  to  dis- 
cover (for  he  was  himself  of  high  descent)  that  ages 
of  misfortune  could  not  extinguish  the  fire  of  a  proud 
race ;  and  he  more  than  ever  felt  the  truth  of  the 
observation,  that  it  is  only  they  who  have  no  ancestry 
to  boast  of  who  affect  to  despise  it. 

To  such  as  these,  or  those  to  whom  ancestral  power 
as  well  as  name  has  descended,  —  or  to  the  many  who 
take  no  pleasure  in  tracing  to  their  secret  sources  the 
springs  of  action  and  feeling  in  the  human  mind  and 
heart,  —  it  may  seem  incredible  that  a  poor  peasant 
could  retain  the  pride  of  birth  when  all  its  substantial 
appendages  were  gone  :  yet  so  it  was.  But  it  was 
a  pride  that  was  unobtrusive.  Circumstances  had 
modified  and  moulded  it  to  the  necessities  of  the 
peasant's  station :  he  was  respectful  in  his  demeanour 


Rory  O'More  43 

to  all  whose  position  in  society  was  better  than  his 
own,  conscious  though  he  might  be  of  their  inferior 
blood ;  and  while  he  took  off  his  hat  to  some  wealthy 
plebeian,  he  never  considered  the  blood  of  the 
O'Mores  to  be  degraded.  The  fallen  fortunes  of 
his  house  were  not  a  subject  of  personal  regret  to  him  ; 
it  was  in  a  national  point  of  view  they  were  lamented. 
That  Ireland  had  lost  her  King  of  Leinster  he  con- 
sidered a  misfortune ;  but  he  never  for  a  moment 
regretted  that  he,  his  heir,  as  he  believed  himself  to 
be  (and,  perhaps,  was),  was  obliged  to  eat  potatoes 
and  salt.  But  of  the  fair  fame  of  the  O'More  he 
was  as  jealous  as  their  founder;  and  insult,  in  the 
remotest  degree,  roused  the  latent  feelings  of  family 
pride  in  his  bosom.  Not  the  great  Rory  himself, 
perched  on  his  castled  crag  of  Dunamaise,  could  be 
more  jealous  of  the  honour  of  his  house  than  his 
humble  namesake  in  his  thatched  cabin. 

The  young  traveller,  it  has  been  already  said,  took 
pleasure  in  making  manifest  this  feeling  of  our  hero ; 
and  in  doing  so,  he  found  that  Rory  had  a  provincial 
as  well  as  personal  pride  of  ancestry.  The  south, 
Rory  protested,  "  bet  all  Ireland  in  the  regard  of  high 
blood." 

"They  have  good  blood  in  the  north,  too,"  said 
the  traveller. 

"  Oh,  they  may  have  a  thrifle  of  it ;  but  it 's  not 
of  the  rale  owld  sort — nothing  to  compare  with  us." 

"  Do  you  forget  the  O'Neil  ?  "   said  the  traveller. 

"  Oh,  that 's  good,  I  don't  deny,"  said  Rory  — 
"  but   one  swallow  makes  no  summer." 

"  But  I  can  count  more  than  one,"  said  the  trav- 
eller; "here's  Talbot,  De  Lacy,  Fitzgerald " 

"Oh,  murther!  murther!  sir,  —  sure  thirn  is  only 
invadhers,  and  not  the  owld  Irish  at  all.  You 
would   never  compare   thlm   with  the    O'Mores,  the 


44  Rory  O^More 

O'Dempsys,  the  O'Connells,  the  O'Donaghues,  the 
O'Shaughnessys " 

"  Stop,  stop  !  "  said  the  traveller,  who  did  not  know 
to  what  length  this  bead-roll  of  O's  might  extend  ; 
"  you  forget  that  the  head  of  the  Fitzgeralds  is  Duke 
of  Leinster." 

"  But  O'More  was  King  of  Leinsther,  sir,  if  you 
plaze." 

"  Very  true,  Rory ;  but  still  the  Geraldines  are  a 
noble  race." 

"  Who  are  they^  sir  ?  " 

"  The  Fitzgeralds." 

"  Oh,  the  Juke  of  Leinsther  you  mane,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  'Faith,  thin,  to  show  you,  sir,  how  little  we  think 
o'  them  down  in  the  south,  I  '11  tell  you  something 
that  I  know  is  a  thruth,  bekase  I  had  it  from 
O'Dempsy  himself,  who  played  the  thrick  an  the 
juke,  and  said  the  thing  to  him,  for  he  's  a  comical 
blade." 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"Why,  you  see,  sir,  O'Dempsy  was  comin'  home 
from  Dublin,  and  the  money  was  getting  fine-dhravun 
with  him,  and  he  wanted  to  see  if  he  had  enough  left 
to  pay  for  the  coach  home ;  and,  by  dad,  the  change 
was  so  scarce  that  he  was  obliged  to  hunt  it  up  in  his 
pocket  into  the  corner,  like  a  contrairy  cowlt,  before 
he  could  lay  howld  of  it  at  all ;  and  when  he  did  get 
it  into  the  pawm  of  his  fist,  it  was  a'most  ashamed  to 
see  the  light,  it  looked  so  contimptible ;  and  my 
bowld  O'Dempsy  seen  the  coach  was  out  o'  the 
question,  or  even  a  lift  in  the  canal-boat,  and  so  he 
put  his  thrust  in  Providence,  and  took  a  big  dhrink 
that  night  to  sthrenthin  him  for  the  mornin' ;  and  the 
next  day  off  he  set  home,  with  a  short  stick  in  his 
hand  and  a  pair  o'  good  legs  undher  him ;  and  he  met 


Rory  O'More  45 

nothin'  remarkable  antil  he  came  to  betune  Kilcock 
and  Maynooth;  and  it  was  thin  that  he  heerd  the 
thramp  of  horses  gallopin'  afther  him,  and  he  turned 
round  and  seen  three  gintlemen  comin'  up  in  great 
style :  one  o'  them,  a  fine  full  handsome  man,  the 
picthur  of  a  gintleman,  and  a  fine  baste  undher  him, 
and  the  gintlemin  along  with  him  very  nice  too ;  one 
in  particular,  a  smart  nate-made  man,  with  a  fine 
bright  eye  and  a  smilin'  face,  and  a  green  handkicher 
round  his  neck,  and  a  sportin'  aisy  sate  on  his  horse; 
and  Dempsy  heerd  him  say,  as  they  dhrew  up  jist 
behind  him,  '  Look  what  a  fine  step  that  fellow  has  ! ' 
(manin'  O'Dempsy ;  and,  indeed,  a  claner  boy  is  n't 
in  all  Ireland  than  himself,  and  can  walk  with  any 
man).  So  when  they  came  up  to  him,  the  small 
gintleman  said,  '  God  save  you !  '  '  God  save  you 
kindly,  sir ! '  says  O'Dempsy.  *■  You  don't  let  the 
grass  grow  undher  your  feet,  my  man,'  says  the 
gintleman.  '  Nor  corn  neither,  sir,'  says  Dempsy. 
*  So  I  see  by  the  free  step  you  have,'  says  the  gintle- 
man, laughin' ;  and  the  others  laughed  too,  the  full 
gintleman  in  particular ;  and  says  he,  *  Well,  Ned, 
you  got  your  answer.' 

"  Now  the  minit  that  O'Dempsy  heerd  the  word 
'  Ned,'  and  it  bein'  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Cartown, 
which  is  the  Juke  o'  Leinsther's  place,  the  thought 
jumped  into  his  head  that  it  was  Lord  Edward  Fitz- 
jaral'  was  in  it ;  for  he  always  heerd  he  was  small, 
and  handsome,  and  merry,  and  that  the  juke  his 
brother  was  a  fine-lookin'  man  ;  and  so  with  that  he 
made  cock-sure  in  his  own  mind  that  the  full  gintle- 
man was  the  Juke  o'  Leinsther,  and  the  little  one 
Lord  Edward.  So  hearin'  that  Lord  Edward  liked  a 
joke,  O'Dempsy  never  let  on  to  suspect  who  they 
wor,  and  they  walked  along  beside  him,  and  had  a 
great  dale  o'   discoorse  and  jokin',  and  the  answers 


46  Rory  O'More 

passin'  betune  them  as  fast  as  hops.  At  last  says  the 
juke  (for  it  was  himself),  '  You  're  a  very  merry 
fellow,'  says  he  ;  '  where  do  you  come  from  ? '  '  From 
Dublin,  sir,'  says  O'Dempsy.  '  Oh,  I  know  that  by 
the  road  you're  goin','  says  the  juke;  'but  I  mane, 
where  is  your  place  ? '  *  'Faith  and  I  have  no  place,' 
says  O'Dempsy:  *I  wish  I  had.'  'That's  a  touch 
at  you^  says  the  juke  to  the  third  gintleman,  whoever 
he  was.  '  But  where  are  you  goin'  to  ?  '  says  the 
juke.  '  I 'm  goin' home,  sir,' says  O'Dempsy.  'And 
where  are  you  when  you  're  at  home  ? '  says  the  juke. 
''Faith,  I  'm  at  home  every  where,'  says  O'Dempsy. 

"  Well,  Lord  Edward  laughed  at  his  brother,  seein' 
he  could  n't  force  a  sthraigt  answer  out  of  O'Dempsy. 
'Will  you  tell  me  thin,'  says  the  juke,  'which  are 
you  —  Uisther,  Leinsther,  Munsther,  or  Connaught  ?  ' 
'  Leinsther,  sirs,'  says  O'Dempsy,  though  it  was  a 
lie  he  was  tellin'  ;  but  it  was  on  pur-pose  to  have  a 
laugh  agin  the  juke,  for  he  was  layin'  a  thrap  for  him 
all  the  time.  '  You  don't  spake  like  a  Leinsther 
man,'  says  the  juke.  '  Oh,  the  tongue  is  very  desait- 
ful  sometimes,'  says  O'Dempsy. 

"  Lord  Edward  laughed  at  his  brother  agin,  and 
said,  he  'd  make  no  hand  of  him.  '  By  gor,'  says 
Lord  Edward,  '  that  fellow  would  bate  Counsellor 
Curran  !  '  '  Well,  I  '11  thry  him  once  more,'  says  the 
juke;  and  with  that,  says  he  to  O'Dempsy,  '  What  's 
your  name  ?  '  Now  that  was  all  O'Dempsy  wanted, 
for  to  nick  him ;  and  so  says  he,  '  My  name  is 
O'Shaughnessy,  sir.'  '  I  've  cotch  you  now,'  says 
the  juke  :  '  you  can't  be  a  Leinsther  man,  with  that 
name.'  ''Faith,  I  see  you're  too  able  for  me, 
sir,'  says  O'Dempsy,  laading  him  on.  '  Well,  Mr. 
O'Shaughnessy,'  says  the  juke, '  it  's  somewhere  out 
of  Munsther  you  come.'  '  No,  'faith,  sir,'  says 
O'Dempsy,  '  I  am  a  Leinsther  man,  in  airnest ;  but  I 


Rory  O'More  47 

see  you  could  n't  be  desaived  about  the  name,  and  so 
I  'II  tell  you  the  thruth,  and  nothin'  but  the  thruth, 
about  it.  I  am  a  Leinsther  man,  but  I  wint  to  live 
in  Munsther,  and  I  was  obleeged  to  change  my  name, 
bekaze  they  had  no  respect  for  me  there  with  the  one 
I  had.'  '  And  what  was  your  name  ?  '  says  the  juke. 
*  My  name  was  Fitzjarl',  sir,'  says  O'Dempsy  ;  '■  but 
they  thought  me  only  an  upstart  down  in  Munsther, 
so  I  changed  it  into  O'Shaughnessy.'  With  that  the 
juke  and  Lord  Edward  laughed  out  hearty,  and  the 
third  gintleman  says  to  the  juke,  'I  think  you^ve  got 
your  hit  now.'  Well,  sir,  the  juke  pulled  a  guinea 
out  of  his  pocket,  and  put  it  into  O'Dempsy's  hand, 
and  says  to  him,  laughin',  '  Take  that,  you  merry 
rascal,  and  dhrink  my  health  ! '  '  Long  life  to  your 
grace!'  says  O'Dempsy,  taking  off  his  hat,  '-you  de- 
sarve  to  be  an  O'  Shaughnessy  !  '  *  More  power  to 
you,  Paddy  ! '  says  Lord  Edward  as  they  put  spurs  to 
their  horses ;  and  away  they  powdhered  down  the 
road,  laughin'  like  mad." 

The  young  traveller  enjoyed  Rory's  anecdote  ex- 
cessively and  scarcely  knew  which  to  admire  most,  — 
the  impudent  waggery  of  Rory's  friend,  or  the  good 
humour  of  the  Duke  of  Leinster  and  Lord  Edward 
Fitzgerald. 

After  much  praise  of  the  latter,  and  some  other 
strange  odds  and  ends  from  Rory,  the  travellers 
separated  for  the  night. 


CHAPTER  IV 

JOURNEY  CONTINUED.  DESULTORY  COACH  CONVER- 
SATION, IN  WHICH  THE  LIBERTY  OF  "  THE 
press"  IS  DISCUSSED,  AND  THE  THISTLE  DE- 
CLARED   TO    BE  NOT    INDIGENOUS    TO    IRELAND.  

ARGUMENTS     AND      COACHES     LIABLE     TO      BREAK. 
DOWN.  —  HINTS  FOR    KEEPING  HOUNDS,  ETC.  ETC. 

|N  the  following  morning  the  coach  resumed  its 
journey,  and  Rory  and  the  stranger  still  con- 
tinued fellow-travellers. 

The  insolent  aggressor  upon  Rory,  as  well  as  the 
passenger  who  sat  beside  him,  did  not  appear  ;  but 
their  places  were  occupied  by  a  person  to  whom 
Rory  touched  his  hat  as  he  took  his  seat,  and  another 
who  seemed  to  be  his  companion.  The  latter  was 
decidedly  a  Scotchman  ;  what  the  other  might  be, 
it  was  not  so  easy  to  decide  —  perhaps  North  of 
England. 

He  addressed  Rory  and  expressed  surprise  at  see- 
ing him. 

"  Throth,  and  it 's  jlst  as  little  I  expected  to  see 
you,  Mr.  Scrubbs,"  said  Rory. 

"  I  was  up  here  on  a  little  business,"  said  Scrubbs. 

"  That 's  what  you  're  always  up  to,  Mr.  Scrubbs," 
answered  Rory. 

"  And  you  're  just  as  ready  for  fun,  Rory.  I  sup- 
pose it  was  that  brought  you  here  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  sir,  —  it  was  the  coach  brought  me 
here  yestherday." 


Rory  O'More  49 

"  Ay,  av,  —  there  you  are  at  your  answers  !  —  I 
suppose  it  was  in  Dublin,  then,  you  would  be  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  I  would  n't  be  if  I  could  help  it." 

"  Well,  but  you  were  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  was." 

"  And  what  business  had  you  in  Dublin  ?  " 

"About  the  lease  of  the  place  below." 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you  I  'd  see  about  that  when  the 
agent  came  down  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  wor  seein'  about  it  so  long  that  I 
thought  it  might  be  out  o'  sight  at  last,  and  so  I 
wint  myself  to  the  head  agent,  and  settled  it  at  wanst." 

Scrubbs  did  not  seem  well  pleased  at  this  informa- 
tion j  and  silence  having  ensued  in  consequence, 
Rory  took  from  his  pocket  a  newspaper  and  began  to 
read.  For  some  time  Scrubbs  cast  suspicious  glances 
at  the  paper,  till  at  last,  when  Rory  turned  over  its 
front  page  and  discovered  the  title  of  *'  The  Press," 
Scrubbs  could  no  longer  remain  silent. 

*'  I  wonder  you  're  not  ashamed,"  said  Scrubbs. 

"Of  what  ?"  said  Rory. 

"  To  read  that  paper." 

"  'Faith,  I  'd  be  more  ashamed  if  I  could  n't  read 
it !  "  said  Rory. 

"  Why,  it  's  all  sedition,  and  treason,  and  blas- 
phemv." 

"  What 's  blasphemy  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"  'T  is  a  word,"  said  the  young  traveller,  "  that 
some  people  always  join  to  treason  and  sedition." 

Scrubbs  gave  a  look  askance  at  the  last  speaker; 
but  seeing  he  was  a  gentleman  and  rather  better 
dressed  than  himself,  he  made  no  observation  to  him, 
but  said  in  continuance  to  Rory,  —  "I  always  thought 
you  were  of  the  peaceable  and  well-disposed  class, 
O'lMore,  and  I'm  sorry  to  see  you  read  that  des- 
perate paper." 
VOL.  I.  —4 


50  Rory  O'More 

"  'Faith,  it 's  very  desperate,  sure  enough,  if  it  be 
thrue  what  they  say  here,  that  bank-notes  will  be 
soon  worth  nothin',  and  won't  bring  a  penny  a  pound 
in  a  snuff-shop." 

"  What 's  that  but  treason,  I  'd  like  to  know  ?  " 
said  Scrubbs  ;  — "  endeavouring  to  undermine  the 
government  ?  " 

"  Sairtainly,"  said  the  Scotchman,  "  it  is  varra  bad 
to  destroy  the  cawnfidence  in  pooblic  creydit." 

"  I  dar  say,  sir,"  said  Rory  to  the  Scotchman, 
'■'•you  would  rather  have  bank-notes  than  golden 
guineas  ?  " 

"  I  did  na  say  that,"  said  the  Scotchman  drily ; 
"  but  bank-notes  are  a  suffeecient  security." 

"  And  they  say  here,"  said  Rory, "  that  we  ought  n't 
to  dhrink  tay  nor  coffee,  nor  take  snuff,  nor  smoke 
tabacky,  nor  dhrink  whisky." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  "  said 
Scrubbs. 

"  'Faith,  I  think  thim  that  has  no  money  will  fol- 
low their  advice,"   said  Rory. 

"Ay!  but  look  at  the  villainous  intention — to 
injure  the  revenue,  or  produce  a  rebellion." 

"  You  think,  then,"  said  the  traveller,  "  that  peo- 
ple must  either  smell  snuff  or  gunpowder,  whether 
they  will  or  no  ?  " 

"  I  know,  sir,  they  '11  have  gunpowder  enough  if 
it  goes  to  that.  We  have  plenty  of  loyal  men  to  put 
down  sedition,  both  militia  and  yeomanry." 

*'  Which  you  can't  trust,"  said  the  traveller. 

"  Do  you  doubt  their  loyalty,  sir  ?  "  said  Scrubbs, 
waxing  rather  angry. 

"  It  would  seem  the  government  does,"  said  the 
traveller,  "  for  whole  regiments  of  yeomanry  have 
been  disbanded  this  year," 

This  was  a  bitter  truth  to  Scrubbs,  who  not  being 


Rory  O'More  51 

able  to  deny  the  fact,  returned  to  the  charge  upon 
«  The  Press." 

"  As  for  that  vile  paper,  they  would  do  right  to 
serve  it  as  '  The  Northern  Star '  was  served  the  other 
day,  when  the  Donegal  militia,  God  bless  them ! 
broke  open  their  office,  burnt  their  papers,  and  broke 
their  printing-presses." 

"  What  noble  and  constitutional  work  for  soldiers 
to  be  employed  upon  !  "  said  the  traveller.  "  I  do 
not  wonder,  when  the  cloth  is  so  degraded,  that  hi^h- 
minded  gentlemen,  such  as  the  Duke  of  Leinster,  Lord 
O'Neil,  and  Colonel  Conolly,  resign  their  regiments." 

This  was  another  bitter  fact  to  which  Scrubbs  was 
unable  to  reply ;  so,  leaving  the  field  in  possession  of 
the  enemy,  he  addressed  his  Scotch  friend  on  some 
fresh  subject,  and  thus  evaded  the  discussion. 

The  traveller  with  Rory,  and  Scrubbs  with  the 
Scotchman,  now  kept  themselves  distinct,  and  the 
day  was  passing  away  slowly  enough,  the  monotony 
of  the  road  only  broken  by  some  occasional  remark 
between  Scrubbs  and  his  friend,  or  the  young  travel- 
ler and  Rory  :  —  seeming  to  observe  each  other  with 
mutual  distrust,  a  restraint  was  put  upon  general  con- 
versation, and  it  was  only  some  passing  observation 
on  the  surrounding  scenery  that  either  party  would 
venture  to  indulge  in. 

The  day  was  more  than  half  spent,  when  they 
were  driving  through  a  fine  tract  of  country,  which 
called  forch  the  Scotchman's  admiration, 

"  A  fine  kintra,  this,  Mr.  Scrubbs,"  said  he. 

"Yes,"  said  Scrubbs,"  't  is  a  good  sort  of  country, 
but  not  fit  to  compare  with  England." 

Rory  looked  indignantly  at  him,  but  said  nothing. 

*' I  dinna  ken  aboot  England,"  said  the  Scotch- 
man; "but  this  kintra  puts  me  varra  much  in  mind 
o'  my  ain." 


52  Rory  O'More 

"  Your    kinthry,   do   you    say  ?  "    said    Rory   with 
what  heroines  call  "  ineffable  contempt." 
"  Yes,  my  kintra." 

"  Oh,  do  you  hear  this  !  !  "  said  Rory  to  the  young 
traveller.  "  He  is  comparin'  this  counthry  to  his  !  ! 
—  Why,  tare  an'  ouns  !  sir,"  said  Rory  to  the  Scotch- 
man ;  "  sure  you  would  n't  be  comparin'  this  lovely 
fine  counthry  to  Scotland  —  or  sayin'  it  was  like  it  ?  " 
"  Yes,  but  I  would,  though,"  said  the  Scotchman 
pertinaciously. 

"Why,  by  the  seven  blessed  candles,  you  haven't 
seen  a  thistle  for  the  last  tin  miles  !  "   said  Rory. 

The  young  traveller  laughed  at  Rory's  illustration, 
and  the  silence  and  disunion  of  the  two  parties  in- 
creased. 

Thus  the  day  wore  on  uncomfortably  enough,  and 
the  evening  began  to  close,  when  a  premature  stop 
was  put  to  their  journey  by  the  breaking  down  of  the 
coach. 

Fortunately  for  the  passengers,  the  accident  was 
not  one  that  placed  them  in  any  danger.  Some  of 
them  were  nearly  thrown  off,  and  a  lady  passenger 
who  was  inside  screamed,  of  course;  and  the  more 
she  was  assured  that  there  was  no  danger,  the  louder 
she  screamed.  In  the  mean  while,  the  passengers 
jumped  off;  and  the  extreme  amount  of  damage  to 
them  was,  that  they  could  proceed  no  further  by  the 
coach  on  their  journey  as  one  of  the  wheels  was 
broken. 

Now,  whenever  an  accident  of  this  kind  occurs 
which  is  manifestly  so  had  as  to  be  beyond  retrieving, 
it  may  be  remarked  that  every  one  looks  at  it  in  all 
possible  ways  —  under  it,  and  over  it,  and  round  it, 
just  as  if  looking  at  it  could  do  any  good.  So  were 
the  passengers  congregated  round  the  wheel  of  the 
coach,  all  making  their  remarks. 


Rory  O'More 


"  It  was  the  nave,"  said  one. 

"  No,  —  the  spokes,"   said  another. 

"Oh  dear,  no,  —  the  tire,"  added  a  third. 

"  Most  provoking  !  " 

"Scandalous!"  said  Scrubbs ;  "like  every  thing 
else  in  this  country  !  The  proprietors  ought  to  be 
prosecuted  for  having  a  coach  in  such  a  condition." 

"  Murther,  murther  !  "  said  the  coachman,  who 
lost  his  temper  at  last  when  the  honour  of  his  coach 
was  concerned :  "  do  you  hear  this !  just  as  if  an 
accident   never  happened   to   a  coach  before." 

"  When  people  pay  their  money,"  said  Scrubbs, 
"  they  have  a  right  to  complain." 

"  Sairtainly,"  said  the  Scotchman.  "  In  fac,  I 
thenk  the  money  should  be  refunded." 

"  Arrah  !  listen  to  him  !  "  said  Rory  aside  to  the 
stranger. 

"  How  far  is  the  coach  from  the  end  of  the  jour- 
ney ?  "   said  the  lady. 

"  'Pon  my  word,  ma'am,"  said  Rory,  "  the  coach 
is  at  the  end  of  its  journey  for  this  day,  any  how." 

"  And  what  are  we  to  do  ?  "   said  the  lady. 

"  I  'd  adveyse,"  said  the  Scotchman,  "  that  we 
should  get  poost-chaises,  and  chorge  them  to  the 
coach    proprevtors." 

"  'Faith,  that  's  a  fine  plan,  if  you  could  get  them" 
said  Rory. 

"  Then  what  are  we  to  do  ?  "   said  the  ladv,  ao-ain. 

"  If  you  'd  be  quiet  the  laste  taste,  ma'am,  if  you 
plaze,"  said  the  coachman,  "  we  '11  conthrive  some 
conthrivance  by-and-by." 

"  Why,  the  night  is  falling,"   said  the  lady. 

"  It  's  time  for  it,"  said  Rory. 

"  My  God  !  "  said  the  lady,  "  what  odd  answers 
these  people  give  one  !  " 

The  horses  became  restless,  for  the  wheelers,  pull- 


54  Rory  O^More 

ing,  and  finding  so  much  resistance,  began  to  kick, 
and  their  example  set  the  leaders  going  :  the  coach- 
man and  Rory  ran  to  their  heads. 

"  Bad  luck  to  you,  you  fools  !  "  said  Rory  to  the 
horses ;  "  sure,  it 's  glad,  and  not  sorry,  you  ought  to 
be,  that  the  dhrag  is  off  o'  you  ;  be  quite  !  you  gar- 
rans,  will  you  !  "  and  he  forced  them  at  last  into  some 
obedience.  "  I  tell  you  what  you  '11  do  now,"  said 
he  to  the  coachman  :  "  jist  take  offthe  horses,  —  they  '11 
be  quite  enough  here,  grazing  by  the  side  o'  the  gripe  ;  i 
and  you  get  on  one  o'  them,  and  pelt  away  into  the 
town,  and  come  out  agin  wid  a  fresh  coach." 

"  Throth,  and  it 's  the  best  plan,  I  b'lieve,"  said 
the  coachman,  "  afther  all." 

"  And  must  we  stay  here  ?  "  said  the  lady. 

"  Barrin'  you  walk,  ma'am." 

"  And  how  far  might  it  be  to  walk  ?  " 

"  'Faith,  I  don't  rightly  know,"  said  the  coachman. 

"  You  're  a  feyne  driver,"  said  the  Scotchman, 
"  not  to  know  the  distance  on  your  ain  road." 

"  I  know  it  well  enough  whin  I  'm  dhriven,"  said 
the  coachman;  "but  how  should  I  know  how  far  it 
is  to  walk  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  stupid  rascal  !  "  said  the  Scotchman, 
about  to  make  an  elaborate  argument  to  show  the 
coachman  the  bull  he  had  made,  —  but  he  was  inter- 
rupted by  Rory. 

"  Arrah !  never  mind  his  prate,  Hoolaghan ;  do 
what  I  bid  you,  —  away  wid  you  into  town  !  " 

"  Indeed,  I  think  't  is  the  best  thing  you  can  do," 
said  the  young  traveller. 

"  And  must  we  stay  here  ?  Why  't  is  growing 
dark  already,  and  we  may  be  murdered  while  you  are 
away." 

"  Divil  a  one  'ill  take  the  throuble  to  murder  you  — 

1  The  ditch. 


Rory  O'More  55 


don't  be  in  the  laste  a'fear'd ! "  said  Ror\%  "  Up 
wid  you  now  on  the  grey,  Hoolaghan,  your  sowl,  and 
powdher  away  like  shot  !  " 

"  What 's  that  he  's  saying,  sir,  about  powder  and 
shot  ?  "   said  the  lady  in  alarm. 

"  He 's  only  giving  directions  to  the  coachman, 
madam,"  said  the  young  traveller. 

"  But  he  said  powder  and  shot  !  sir  :  —  is  there  any 
danger  ?  " 

"  None  in  the  least,  I  assure  you,  madam." 

"  The  horses  'ill  stay  quite  enough  while  you  're 
gone,"  said  Rory  ;  "  here,  gi'  me  your  fut  —  I  '11  lift 
you  on  the  baste."  And  so  saying,  Hoolaghan  placed 
his  left  foot  in  Rory's  right  hand  \  and  thus  aided,  he 
sprang  astride  of  one  of  the  coach-horses. 

"  There  now,"  said  Rory,  "  you  're  up  !  and  away 
wid  you  !  Jist  be  into  the  town  in  no  time,  and  back 
in  less.  '  That 's  the  cut !  says  Cutty,  when  he  cut 
his  mother's  throat.'  " 

"  What 's  that  he 's  saying,  sir,  about  cutting 
throats  ?  "   said  the  lady. 

"  Nothing,  madam,  I  assure  you,  you  need  be 
alarmed  at,"  said  the  traveller. 

"  Indeed,  you  need  not  make  yourself  onaisy, 
ma'am,  in  the  laste,"  said  Rory,  after  he  had  placed 
Hoolaghan  on  horseback.  "  It  will  be  all  over  with 
you  soon  now." 

The  lady  shuddered  at  the  phrase,  but  spoke  not. 

"  And  now,  sir,"  said  Rory  to  his  felllow-traveller, 
''it's  time  we  should  be  thinkin'  of  ourselves: 
there's  no  use  you  should  be  loithcrin'  here  until  the 
other  coach  comes  back ;  for  though  it 's  some  miles 
from  the  town,  where,  I  suppose,  you  were  goin'  to,  it 's 
not  far  from  this  where  I  must  turn  off  to  my  own 
place,  which  lies  acrass  the  counthry,  about  two  miles 
or  thereaway  ;  and  if  you,  sir,  would  n't  think  it  be- 


56  Rory  O'More 

nathe  vou  to  come  to  a  poor  man's  house,  sure  it 's 
proud  I  'd  be  to  give  your  honour  a  bed  ;  and  though 
it  may  not  be  as  good  as  you  're  used  to,  still  maybe 
't  will  be  betther  than  stoppin'  here  by  the  roadside." 

The  traveller  expressed  his  thanks  to  Rory  for  the 
kindness  of  his  offer,  but  said  that  perhaps  he  could 
as  well  walk  to  the  town.  To  this  Rory  objected, 
suggesting  the  probability  of  the  traveller's  losing  his 
way,  as  he  could  only  be  his  guide  as  far  as  the  point 
where  he  had  to  turn  towards  his  own  home ;  besides 
many  other  arguments  urged  on  Rory's  part  with  so 
much  heart  and  cordialitv,  that  he  prevailed  on  his 
fellow-traveller  to  accept  his  proffered  hospitality. 
Selecting  a  small  portmanteau  from  the  luggage,  the 
traveller  was  about  to  throw  it  over  his  shoulder, 
when  Rory  laid  hold  of  it,  and  insisted  on  carrying  it 
for  him. 

"  You  've  your  own  luggage  to  carry  !  "  said  the 
traveller. 

"Sure,  mine  is  nothin'  more  than  a  small  bundle  — 
no  weight  in  life." 

"  And  your  gridirons,  Ror)'  ?  " 

"  By  the  powers !  I  was  near  forgettin'  thim" 
said  Rory  ;  "  but  sure,  thim  itself  is  no  weight,  and  I 
can  carry  thim  all !  " 

"  Stay  a  moment,"  said  the  traveller,  whose  gal- 
lantry forbade  that  he  should  leave  the  lady  of  the 
party,  alarmed  as  she  was,  in  such  a  situation,  and 
apparently  not  regularly  protected,  without  the  offer 
of  his  services.  He  approached  the  coach,  into  which 
the  lady  had  retired  to  avoid  the  dew  that  was  now 
falling  heavily,  and  made  his  offer  with  becoming 
courtesy. 

"  I  'm  much  obliged  to  you,  sir,"  said  she,  "  but  I 
have  my  husband  here." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  a  miserable-looking  little 


Rory  O'More  57 

man,  who  had  not  uttered  a  word  before  ;  "  I  am  this 
lady's  husband."  —  He  did  not  dare  to  say,  "  This 
lady  's  my  wife." 

The  traveller  made  his  bow,  and  he  and  his  guide, 
leaving  the  forlorn  coach-passengers  on  the  road,  pro- 
ceeded at  a  smart  pace  towards  the  cottage  of  Rory 
O'More. 

"Those  people,  I  think,  are  likely  to  remain  a 
good  while  before  assistance  can  reach  them,"  said 
the  traveller. 

"'Faith,  I'm  thinkin'  myself  they'll  have  a  good 
long  wait  of  it,"  said  Rory  ;  "  and  in  throth  I  'm  not 
sorry  for  some  of  thim." 

"  Don't  you  pity  that  unfortunate  woman  ?  " 

"  Sorra  much  !  "  said  Rory  ;  "  the  screechin'  fool, 
with  her  shoutin'  about  her  throat  bein'  cut  !  —  though, 
indeed,  if  it  was  cut  itself,  it  would  n't  be  much 
matther,  for  all  the  sinse  I  heard  her  spake.  Throat 
cut,  indeed  !  as  if  the  whole  counthry  was  murtherers 
and  moroders.  In  throth  the  counthry  would  be  quite 
(quiet)  enough  if  they  'd  let  us  be  quite ;  but  it  's 
gallin'  and  aggravatin  us  they  are  at  every  hand's 
turn,  and  puttin'  the  martial  law  on  us,  and  callin'  us 
bad  names,  and  abusin'  our  blessed  religion." 

"  And  are  the  people  much  dissatisfied  at  this  state 
of  things  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  don't  see  how  they  could  be  plazed,  sir  ! 
And  sure,  my  heart  warmed  to  you  whin  you  gave 
that  dirty  Scrubbs  his  answer  to-day  :  'faith,  he'  got 
his  fairin'  any  how  from  you  !  he  had  no  chance  at 
all  with  you,  sir.  Oh,  when  you  silenced  him,  sure 
it  was  butther  to  my  bones  !  " 

"  By  the  by,  who  is  that  person  ?  "  said  the  traveller. 

"  He  is  a  fellow  that  lives  not  far  from  this,  sir;  — 
they  call  him  the  Collecthor." 

"  Collector  of  what  ?  " 


58  Rory  O'More 

"  Of  every  thing,  'faith.  He  collects  tithes  for  the 
parson,  and  rints  for  the  agint,  and  taxes  and  cess, 
and  all  to  that ;  and  so  he  goes  by  the  name  of  the 
Collecthor." 

"  He  's  not  an  Irishman  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  God,  he  's  not  !  Though,  indeed, 
there  's  some  of  the  Irish  bad  enough  to  their  own  or 
worse  than  sthrangers  maybe  ;  but  I  say,  thank  God, 
bekaze  there  's  one  blackguard  the  less  belongs  to  us." 

"  Has  he  been  long  here  ?  " 

"  Not  to  say  very  long  indeed,  considherin'  all  he 
has  done  for  himself  in  the  time.  I  remember,  whin 
he  came  among  us  first,  it  was  with  some  horses  —  a 
sort  of  low  stable-helper,  a  kind  of  a  hanger-on  about 
some  officers  that  was  in  the  town,  and  thin  he  was 
badly  off  enough.  He  had  n't  as  much  clothes  on  him 
as  would  scour  a  spit ;  and  his  flesh,  the  little  he  had 
of  it,  hangin'  about  him  as  if  it  did  n't  fit  him.  But 
he  wint  to  church  the  first  Sunday  he  was  here,  and, 
as  Prodestants  is  scarce,  he  was  welkim  to  the  parson  ; 
and  so  that  he  might  not  disgrace  the  congregation,  the 
parson  gev  him  some  dacent  clothes  :  and  thin  he  got 
him  to  do  odd  jobs  for  him,  one  way  or  another;  and 
so  he  made  himself  plazin'  somehow  to  the  parson, 
and  got  on  one  step  afther  another.  And  the  parson 
noticed  him  to  the  squire,  and  thin  this  squire  gave 
him  a  lift,  for  he  it  was  got  him  to  be  collecthor  ;  and 
now  he  has  a  mighty  snug  house,  and  a  nate  farm 
nigh  hand  to  the  parson,  though  the  first  place  he 
slep'  in,  not  along  ago,  whin  he  came  to  the  town 
beyant,  was  in  the  hayloft  of  the  inn,  for  they 
would  n't  dirty  the  barrack-stables  with  him." 

^'  Then  the  parson  is  his  patron  ?  " 

"  Not  only  the  parson,  but  the  magisthrits  about 
the  place  as  well,  for  they  know  that  Squire  Ransford 
notices  him." 


Rory  O'More  59 

"  How  did  he  get  into  the  squire's  good  graces  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  cast-off  lady  of  the  squire's  that  was 
throublesome  to  him,  and  so  he  gev  some  soft  dis- 
course, and  hard  cash  too,  I  b'lieve,  to  Scrubbs,  to 
make  an  honest  woman  of  her,  and  take  her  off  his 
hands  ;  and  so  he  did  ;  and  now  vou  '11  see  her  goin' 
in  her  jantin'  car,  if  you  plaze,  along  wid  that  mane- 
spirited  dog  that  tuk  another  man's  lavings,  marchin' 
into  church  every  Sunday  as  bowld  as  brass,  and  wid 
as  many  ribands  on  her  as  would  set  up  a  thravellin' 
pedlar." 

"  And  what  does  the  parson  say  to  all  this  ?  Does 
he  countenance  the  affair  ?  " 

"  Arrah,  what  can  he  do,  sir  ?  "  said  Rory.  "  Sure, 
he  can't  help  if  she  was  unproper ;  and  is  n't  it  better 
she  'd  go  to  her  duty  than  stay  away,  bad  as  she  is  ? 
And  sure,  if  she  was  a  sinner,  that 's  the  greater  the 
raison  why  he  'd  be  glad  to  help  her  in  mendin'  her 
ways ;  and  sure,  as  she  has  n't  the  luck  to  be  a 
Roman,  it 's  well  for  her  she  's  even  a  Prodestant  !  " 

"  That  's  a  very  charitable  view  of  the  matter  on 
your  part,"   said  the  traveller. 

"  Oh,  by  dad,  sir  !  you  must  n't  be  too  hard  on  the 
parson,  for  he 's  a  dacent  man  enough.  If  all  the 
Prodestants  was  as  quite  (quiet)  as  him,  we  'd  never 
fall  out  wid  thim,  for  he  's  a  nice  aisy  man,  and  is 
good  friends  wid  Father  Kinshela,  and  both  o'  thim 
dines  together  wid  the  squire  whin  he  's  here.  And 
you  know,  sir,  that  's  hearty  !  " 

"  Very,  indeed,"  said  the  traveller.  "  I  'm  glad  to 
hear  it." 

''  Scrubbs  himself  is  a  nasty  fellow  ;  and  his  lady  is 
a  dab^  and  nothin'  else  :  but  sure  the  parson  can't  help 
that,  and  I  would  n't  expect  of  him  to  be  too  particular 
on  thim,  for  sure  he  must  be  glad  to  get  a  Prodestant 
at    all    in   his    church,    where    they    are    so    scarce. 


6o  Rory  O^More 

Throth,  it  must  be  cowld  work  there,  in  a  big  ramblin' 
church  in  the  winther,  wid  so  few  in  it,  to  be  sayin' 
pEayers  !  " 

"  You  seem  to  like  the  parson,  I  think  ?  "  said  the 
traveller. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mislike  him,  sir,  for  he 's  civil- 
spoken,  and  a  hearty  man,  and  he  likes  huntin'  and 
shootin',  and  divarshin  of  all  sorts." 

"  But  do  you  think  that  becoming  in  a  clergyman  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you're  too  hard  on  the  clargy,  sir;  —  why 
would  n't  they  be  merry  ?  —  sure  Father  Kinshela 
himself  sometimes  takes  a  dart  afther  the  dogs,  whin 
the  squire  is  down   here,  as  well  as  the  parson." 

"  Squire  Ransford,  then,  lives  here  a  good  deal  ?  " 

"  Not  a  good  dale,  sir,  —  only  by  times  whin  he 
comes  down  to  take  a  start  huntin'  or  shootin',  and 
thin  he  brings  down  a  power  o'  company  wid  him  ; 
but  unless  at  that  time,  the  place  is  like  a  wildherness, 
only  an  ould  woman  and  a  couple  o'  maids  to  mind 
the  house,  and  a  stable-helper  left,  or  somethin'  that 
way,  to  watch  the  place." 

"  A  single  stable-helper !  Did  n't  you  tell  me  he 
keeps  a  pack  of  hounds  ?  " 

"  Yis,  sir  ;  but  he  does  n't  keep  up  the  dogs  unless 
whin  he  's  here  himself." 

"  How  does  he  manage,  then  ?  " 

"  Whv,  he  gives  one  couple  o'  dogs  to  one  tenant, 
and  another  couple  to  another,  and  so  on  in  that  way, 
while  he  is  n't  in  the  place  ;  and  whin  he  comes  back, 
he  gathers  thim  in  again  ;  and  so  he  is  n't  at  the 
expense  of  keepin'  up  the  kennel  while  he  's  away." 

"  What  a  shabby  fellow,"  said  the  traveller. 

"  Oh  !  not  to  say  shabby,  sir." 

"  Why,  what  else  can  you  call  quartering  his  dogs 
on  his  poor  tenantry  ?  " 

"  Oh,  for  all  that  he  's  not  shabby  ;  —  for  whin  he 


Rory  0' More  6i 

is  down  here,  the  company  is  never  out  of  his  house ; 
and  they  say  there 's  lashings  and  lavings  of  every 
thing  in  it,  and  the  claret  flyin'  about  the  place  as 
common  as  beer,  and  no  stint  to  any  one,  I  'm 
towld." 

"  That 's  mere  wastefulness  and  rioting,  and  can- 
not in  my  opinion  redeem  his  shabbiness,  for  I  cannot 
call  it  any  thing  else.  Can  he  not  feel  that  when  the 
poor  people  feed  his  sporting-dogs,  the  fruit  of  their 
labour  is  invaded  to  contribute  to  his  pleasure  ?  " 

"Why,  if  you  go  the  rights  o'  the  thing,  what  your 
honour  says  is  thrue  enough  ;  but  we  would  n't  be  too 
sharp  in  looking  at  what  a  gintleman  would  do,  —  and, 
indeed,  I  don't  mislike  it  myself,  as  far  as  that  goes, 
for  the  couple  o'  dogs  that  is  left  with  me  I  do  have 
a  great  deal  of  fun  with," 

"  How  ?  " 

"  Huntin'  rabbits,  sir." 

"  They  must  be  nice  dogs  after  that !  " 

*•■  Divil  a  harm  it  does  thim  !  —  sure  it  comes  nath'- 
ral  to  the  craythurs,  and  would  be  cruel  to  stint  them 
of  their  divarshin." 

"  And  do  you  all  hunt  rabbits  with  the  dogs  left  to 
your  care  ?  " 

*'  Every  one  of  us." 

"Then  the  pack  can't  be  worth  a  farthing." 

"  Why,  indeed,  I  don't  deny  they  run  a  little  wild 
now  and  thin  ;  but  sure  what  would  be  the  use  of  a 
whipper-in  if  the  dogs  worn't  a  little  fractious  ?  " 

Rory  continued  his  discourse  with  the  stranger  as 
they  proceeded  on  their  road,  giving  him  various  in- 
formation respecting  the  squire,  and  the  collector,  and 
the  parson,  in  all  of  which,  though  Rory  did  not  so 
intend  it,  his  hearer  found  deep  cause  of  disapproval 
of  their  conduct.  Their  conversation  was  now  inter- 
rupted by  the  deep  baying  of  dogs  ;  and  Rory  answered 


62  Rory  0' More 

the  sound  by  a  cheering  whoop,  and  the  calling  of  the 
dogs  by  their  names. 

"  There  they  are,  sir  !  "  said  he  ;  "  you  see  we  're 
jist  at  home." 

As  he  spoke  they  turned  into  the  little  boreen  already 
noticed,  and  two  hounds  came  rushing  wildly  up  the 
lane  and  jumped  upon  Rory  with  all  the  testimonials 
of  canine  recognition. 

"Down,  Rattler,  you  divil,  down! — you'll  tear 
the  coat  av  my  back.  Murther  !  Sweetlips,  don't  be 
kissin'  me  —  down,  you  brutes  !  "  And  he  drove  the 
animals  from  him,  whose  furious  caresses  were  more 
than  agreeable.  "  Poor  things ! "  said  he  to  the 
stranger  in  a  kindly  tone,  "  sure,  thin,  it 's  pleasant 
even  to  have  a  dog  to  welkim  one  home." 

"  More  than  a  dog,  Rory  dear,"  said  a  sweet  voice 
from  amid  the  darkness ;  and  the  next  instant  a  girl 
ran  up  to  Rory,  and  throwing  her  arms  round  his 
neck,  kissed  him  over  and  over  again.  He  returned 
her  embrace  with  affection,  and  said,  "  How  is  the 
mother  ?  " 

"  Hearty,  thank  God,"  said  the  girl. 

"  And  yourself,  Mary  dear  ?  " 

"  Oh,  what  would  ail  me  ?  —  But  tell  me,  what 
sort  of  a  place  is  Dublin?  —  and  how  did  you  like 
it  ?  — and  did  you  get  me  the  riband  ?  " 

"  It 's  my  sisther,  sir,"  said  Rory  to  his  guest,  pay- 
ing no  attention  to  the  numerous  questions  of  Mary, 
who  now,  for  the  first  time  observing  the  stranger, 
dropped  a  short  curtsy  to  him,  and  said  in  a  subdued 
voice,  *'  Your  sarvant,  sir." 

*'  Run  on,  Mary  dear,  and  tell  the  mother  we  're 
comin' ; "  said  Rory,  accompanying  his  words  with  a 
significant  pinch  on  Mary's  elbow,  which  meant, 
"  Make  the   place  look  as  dacent  as  possible." 

Mary     ran     hastily     forward,    fully    understanding 


Rory  O'More  63 

Rory's  telegraphic  communication ;  and  when  the 
travellers  reached  the  cottage,  they  found  the  mother 
and  Mary  in  that  peculiar  state  of  action  which  in 
the  polite  world  is  called  "  hurry-scurry ; "  and  the 
dragging  of  chairs  and  stools,  cramming  of  things  into 
corners,  and  slapping  about  with  the  ends  of  aprons, 
testified  their  anxiety  to  receive  so  unusual  a  visitor 
with  proper  honour. 

When  they  entered,  the  widow  first  received  her 
son  with  the  strongest  evidence  of  a  mother's  affection, 
kissing  him  tenderly  ;  and  with  the  reverential  appeal 
to  Heaven  in  which  the  Irish  peasantry  so  much  in- 
dulge, she  said,  "  God  bless  you,  alanna,  you  're  wel- 
kim  home !  "  She  then  turned  to  the  stranger,  and 
in  that  soft  accent  of  her  country  which  so  well  ex- 
presses the  gentlest  emotions  of  human  nature,  she 
said,  in  tones  that  would  have  almost  conveyed  her 
meaning  without  words,  "You're  kindly  welkim, 
sir." 

The  stranger  expressed  his  thanks ;  but,  notwith- 
standing the  manifest  commotion  which  his  arrival 
occasioned,  he  was  too  polite  to  seem  to  notice  it, 
and  did  not,  as  a  vulgar  person  always  does,  overload 
the  people  with  requests  not  to  trouble  themselves  on 
his  accou7it. 

He  quietly  took  a  seat ;  and  Rory,  with  instinctive 
good  breeding,  took  another,  and  continued  to  dis- 
course with  his  guest.  Now  and  then,  to  be  sure,  he 
could  not  help  casting  his  eyes  towards  his  mother, 
who  was  busy  in  all  sorts  of  preparation,  and  asking, 
"  Can  I  help  you,  mother  dear  ?  "  But  the  answer 
always  was, — 

"No,  alanna.  Sure  you  're  tired  afther  your  jour- 
ney ;  and  Mary  and  myself  will  do  every  thing  ;  and 
sure  it  's  glad  we  are  to  have  you,  and  proud  that  the 
gintleman  is  come  with  you,  and  only  hopes  he  'il  put 


64  Rory  O'More 

up  with  what  we  can  do:  but  sure,  if  the  enthertaln- 
ment  is  poor,  the  welkim  is  hearty,  any  how." 

The  stranger  assured  her  of  his  sense  of  her 
kindness. 

"  If  we  knew  of  your  comin',  sir,  sure  we  could 
have  had  a  couple  of  chickens  ready  ;  and  if  the 
gintleman  would  wait  a  bit,  sure  it  is  n't  too  late  yet, 
and  can  have  a  rashir  and  egg  in  the  mane  time." 

"  My  dear  ma'am,"  said  the  stranger,  "  pray  don't 
think  of  chickens  to-night  :  the  fact  is,  I  'm  very 
hungry,  and  I  don't  know  a  better  thing  than  a  dish 
of  rashers  and  eggs,  which  has  the  great  advantage, 
besides,  of  being  got  ready  sooner." 

Rashers  and  eggs  were  accordingly  got  ready  im- 
mediately ;  and  while  the  mother  was  engaged  in  the 
culinary  department,  Mary  spread  a  coarse  but  white 
cloth  upon  the  table,  and  taking  down  from  a  cleanly- 
scoured  dresser  some  plates  of  coarse  delf,  arranged 
the  table  for  the  supper.  This  the  hungry  travellers 
discussed  with  good  appetite  and  much  relish ;  and 
after  many  relays  of  the  savoury  viands  had  vanished 
rapidly  before  them,  a  black  bottle  of  whiskey  was 
produced,  and  some  hot  punch  being  made,  Rory's 
guest  protested  he  had  eaten  one  of  the  best  suppers 
he  ever  made  in  his  life. 

Rory  and  his  mother  and  sister  were  lavish  in  their 
compliments  to  the  stranger  on  being  so  easily  pleased, 
and  uttered  a  profusion  of  wishes  that  they  had  better 
to  offer.  This  by  their  guest  was  pronounced  impos- 
sible j  and  when  at  last  the  stranger  retired  to  bed, 
they  parted  for  the  night  with  the  highest  opinion  of 
each  other,  —  he  in  admiration  of  their  hospitality, 
and  they  of  his  condescension. 

Rory  then,  with  his  mother  and  sister,  drew  round 
the  fire,  and,  relieved  from  the  presence  of  a  stranger, 
indulged    in    that    affectionate    family    gossip    which 


Rory  O'More  65 

always  is  the  result  when  one  of  the  circle  has  re- 
turned from  a  temporary  absence.  Rory  sat  on  a 
chair  in  the  middle,  his  sister  on  a  low  stool  beside 
him,  with  one  hand  resting  on  his  knee,  and  her 
pretty  eyes  raised  to  his,  in  open  wonder,  only  to  be 
exceeded  by  the  more  open  wonder  of  her  mouth,  as 
Rory  told  something  of  what  he  had  seen  in  Dublin. 
The  widow,  on  the  other  side,  seated  in  a  low  easy 
chair  of  platted  straw,  looked  upon  her  son  with 
manifest  pleasure  ;  and  while  she  led  Rory  into  a 
digression,  by  asking  him  how  he  managed  "  the  little 
business  "  about  the  lease,  Mary  filled  up  the  interval 
ver)'  agreeably  by  looking  with  ecstasy  at  the  roll  of 
riband  which  her  brother  brought  her.  This  was  a 
great  delight  to  Mary  :  —  it  was  no  pedlar's  trash,  — 
no  common  thing  bought  at  a  booth  in  a  fair,  —  but 
a  real  downright  metropolitan  riband,  "  brought  all  the 
way  from  Dublin  to  herself."  Was  n't  she  happy  ? 
And  maybe  she  did  n't  think  how  she  'd  astonish 
them  next  Sunday  at  chapel  ! 

Rory  told  them  how  he  met  the  stranger  he 
brought  home,  and  of  the  accident  which  led  to  it, 
and  praised  him  to  the  skies  for  his  liberality  and 
gentlemanly  conduct,  —  swore  he  was  of  the  right 
sort,  and  said,  he  was  one  for  whom  a  poor  man  ought 
to  lay  down  his  life.  Such  was  Rory's  opinion  of 
the  stranger  he  had  met,  and  who  was  introduced  to 
the  reader  in  the  first  chapter  under  the  title  of  the 
"  Scholar."  How  he  acquired  this  title  will  be  sub- 
sequently  seen. 

The  trio  talked  on  until  the  embers  on  the  hearth 
were  quite  burnt  out,  and  it  was  at  an  advanced  hour 
in  the  morning  that  they  separated  and  retired  to  their 
slumbers,  which  were  sound,  because  their  lives  were 
healthful  and   innocent. 

VOL.  I. — 5 


CHAPTER   V 

WHISKY      VERSUS      SMALL-POX. GHIBBERISH    VERSUS 

FRENCH.  A     SECRET     WITH     TWO     HANDLES     TO 

IT,     WHICH      OUR      HERO      AND      HIS       SISTER     LAY 
HOLD    OF 

THE  next  morning  the  Widow  O'More  and  her 
son  and  daughter  arose  refreshed  and  light- 
hearted,  but  not  so  their  guest  :  he  awoke  with  the 
burning  thirst,  intense  headache,  and  deadening  sen- 
sation of  sickness,  which  are  the  precursors  of  fever. 
It  was  early,  and  from  the  silence  that  reigned  in  the 
cottage  he  concluded  no  one  had  yet  risen.  He 
endeavoured  to  sleep,  but  the  effort  was  vain  :  he  fell 
but  into  a  confused  dozing,  filled  with  broken  images, 
confused  recollections,  and  wild  imaginings,  from 
which  he  started  but  with  an  increased  sensation  of 
illness  upon  him  ;  and  even  when  the  inhabitants  of 
the  cottage  rose  they  came  not  near  him,  wishing  to 
leave  him  undisturbed  after  his  fatigue.  At  length, 
on  his  hearing  Rory's  voice,  he  exerted  his  so  as  to 
make  himself  heard ;  and  when  Rory  entered,  he  per- 
ceived, from  the  heavy  eye  and  altered  countenance 
of  the  stranger,  that  he  was  unwell. 

"  God  be  good  to  us  !  what 's  the  matther  with 
you,  sir  ?  "   said   Rory. 

"  I  'm  ill,  very  ill,  O'More,"  said  the  stranger 
languidly. 

"  Well,  don'  disturb  yourself,  sir,  and  you  '11  be 
betther  by  and  by,  plaze  God  !  " 


Rory  O'More  67 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  've  caught  the  small-pox,"  said  the 
stranger. 

*'  I  hope  not,  sir :  don't  be  thinkin'  o'  sich  things. 
Sure,  how  would  you  get  the  small-pox  ?  " 

*'  From  a  beggar  in  the  crowd  here  last  night,  when 
we  alighted  at  the  inn.  I  remember  shuddering  at 
the  mention  of  the  disease  when  she  spoke  of  it ;  and 
I  fear  I  am  infected  with  what  I  dread  more  than 
any  thing  under  the  sun."  ^ 

"  I  had  betther  bring  my  mother  to  you,  sir,"  said 
Rory,  "  for  she  is  very  knowledgeable  in  sickness, 
and  undherstands  the  aribs  "  (herbs) ;  and  with  these 
words  he  left  the  room,  leaving  the  poor  sick  stranger 
utterly  at  a  loss  to  know  what  her  knowledge  of  the 
Arahs^  as  he  took  Rorj^'s  word  to  be,  could  have  to  do 
with  his  illness. 

When  Rory  returned  with  his  mother,  she  asked 
the  stranger  (for  so  we  shall  vet  continue  to  call  him) 
how  he  felt.  He  told  in  what  manner  he  was  suffer- 
ing, and  she  replied  by  proposing  to  him  to  take  a 
glass  of  whisky.  The  very  name  of  the  thing  pro- 
duced nausea  to  the  sick  man,  who  refused  the  offer 
with  a  shudder. 

"  See  how  you  thrimble,  sir !  "  said  she.  "  In- 
deed, if  you  b'lieve  me,  a  good  big  dhrop  o'  whiskey 
is  the  best  thing  you  could  take." 

"  Don't  mention  it,  I  beg  of  you.  I  fear  it  is  the 
small-pox   I  have  caught." 

"  Plaze  God,  I  hope  not !  "  said  the  widow  :  "  but 
if  it  is,  not  a  finer  thing  in  the  world  than  a  dhrop  of 
whisky   to   dhrive  it  out  from  your  heart." 

Thus  she  continued  to  urge  the  taking  of  ardent 
spirits,  which,  to  this  hour,  in  the  commencement  of 

^  He  must  have  caught  the  disease  earlier,  as  the  infection  of 
small-pox  does  not  exhibit  itself  so  soon  ;  young  gentlemen 
are  not  expected  to  be  too  learned  in  such  matters. 


68  Rory  O'More 

every  sickness  amongst  the  Irish  peasantry,  is  con- 
sidered the  one  thing  needful,  and  for  the  reason  the 
widow  assigned  in  this  case,  namely,  to  "  dhrive  it  out 
from  the  heart."  The  heart  is  by  them  considered 
the  vulnerable  point  in  sickness  as  well  as  in  love ;  so 
much  so  indeed,  that  no  matter  what  disease  they 
labour  under,  it  is  always  called  an  "  impression  on 
the  heart."  So  well  understood  does  this  seem  to  be 
amongst  them,  that  even  the  part  affected  is  not 
necessary  to  be  named,  and  the  word  "  heart "  is 
omitted  altogether ;  and  if  you  ask  "  What 's  the 
matter  with  such-a-one  ?  "  the  answer  is  sure  to  be, 
"  He 's  got   an   impression." 

"Mrs.  O'More,"  said  the  stranger,  "  I  am  certain 
it  is  the  small-pox ;  and  while  I  may  yet  be  moved, 
pray  let  me  be  conveyed  to  the  neighbouring  town,  to 
the  inn,  and  let  not  your  house  be  visited  with  the 
disease  and  the  contagion." 

"  Oh,  God  forbid  that  I  'd  do  the  like,  sir,  and 
turn  the  sick  sthranger  outside  my  doors  whin  it 's 
most  he  wanted  the  caring  for  —  and  in  an  inn  too  ! 
Oh,  what  would  become  of  you  at  all  in  sich  a  place, 
where  I  would  n't  have  a  sick  dog,  much  less  a  gintle- 
man,  behowldin' to  !  Make  yourself  aisy,  sir;  and 
if  it 's  as  bad  as  you  think,  we  '11  take  care  o'  you, 
niver  fear." 

"  I  don't  fear,"  said  the  stranger,  affected  by  the 
v.'idow's  kindness ;  "  but  it  is  not  right  that  you 
should  have  this  horrid  disease  under  your  roof,  and 
all  for  a  stranger." 

"  Keep  your  mind  aisy,  dear,  do  !  "  said  the  widow, 
—  "  sure  we  're  all  poor  craythers,  God  help  us  !  — 
and  if  we  did  not  help  one  another  in  our  want  and 
throuble,  it 's  the  dark  and  blake  world  it  would  be  ! 

and  what  would  we  be  Chrishthans  for  at  all,  if  we 

had  n't  charity  in  our  hearts  ?     I  beg  your  pardon,  sir, 


Rory  O'More  69 

for  sayin'  charity  to  a  gintleman  —  but  sure  it's 
not  charity  I  mane  at  all,  only  tindherness  and 
compassion.  And  as  for  the  sickness  being  undher 
our  roof,  my  childher,  God  be  praised  !  is  over  the 
small-pox  — iv  it  be  it  —  and  had  it  light,  —  as  well 
as  myself:  so  make  your  mind  aisy,  dear,  and  dhrive 
t  out  from  your  heart  with  the  whiskey.  Well,  well ! 
don't  shake  your  poor  head  that  way  ;  I  won't  ax  you 
to  take  it  till  you  like  it  yourself:  but  whin  there  is 
an  impression,  there  's  nothin'  like  dhrivin'  it  out. 
So  I  '11  lave  you,  sir,  for  a  while  —  and  see  if  you  can 
sleep  ;  and  I  '11  come  in  again  by  and  by  ;  and  if  you 
want  any  thing  in  the  mane  time,  you  can  jist  thump 
on  the  flure  with  the  chair  —  I  have  put  it  convay- 
nient  to  your  hand:  —  and  the  sooner  you  can  bring 
yourself  to  take  the  sper'ts,  the  betther.  Well,  well ! 
I  '11  say  no  more  —  only  it 's  the  finest  thing  in  the 
world,  with  a  clove  o'  garlic,  for  worms  or  fayver,  to 
throw  out  the  venom."  And  so,  muttering  praises 
on   her  favourite  panacea,  she  left  the  room. 

The  illness  of  the  stranger  increased  during  the 
day,  and  in  the  evening  he  began  to  speak  incohe- 
rently. The  Widow  O'More  now  thought  it  probably 
was  the  small-pox  with  which  her  guest  was  visited, 
and  began  to  take  the  most  approved  measures  that 
were  in  those  days  established  for  the  cure  of  that 
terrible  disease ;  —  that  is  to  say,  she  stopped  every 
crevice  of  the  room  whereby  air  could  be  admitted, 
opened  the  door  as  seldom  as  possible,  and  heaped  all 
the  clothes  she  could  on  the  patient,  and  gave  him 
hot  drinks  to  allay  the  raging  thirst  that  consumed 
him.  Not  content  with  heaping  bed-clothes  over  the 
unhappy  sufferer,  she  got  a  red  cloth  cloak  and 
wrapped  it  tightly  round  his  body;  it  being  in  those 
days  considered  that  a  wrapper  of  red  cloth  was  of 
great  virtue. 


70  Rory  O'More 

Let  the  reader,  then,  imagine  the  wretched  plight 
the  poor  stranger  was  reduced  to,  and  what  chance 
of  recovery  he  had  from  such  treatment.  The  fever 
increased  fearfully,  and  he  soon  became  quite  delirious. 
During  his  ravings  he  imagined  the  bed  in  which  he 
lav  to  be  a  tent  j  for,  with  national  hospitality,  he  had 
been  placed  in  the  best  bed  in  the  house,  with  the 
flaring   calico  curtains  before  mentioned. 

"  Why  is  this  tent  square  ?  "   said  he. 

"  Whisht,  whisht,  dear,"  said  the  widow  soothingly. 

"  But  why  is  it  square  ?  —  And  look  here,"  said  he, 
seizing  the  curtain,  —  "  why  is  not  this  white  ?  why 
is  my  tent  red  ?  —  or  is  it  the  blood  of  the  enemy 
upon   it  ?  " 

"  God  help  the  crayther  !  "  said  the  widow. 

Rory  now  entered  the  room ;  and  the  stranger 
started  up  in  the  bed  and   said,  "  ^i  vive  F  " 

"  Sir  ?  "  said  Ror)^,  rather  astonished. 

"  Jh !  c'est  mon  caporal"  pursued  the  sick  man. 
''  Caporal,  nous  avons  va'incu  les  Ayiglais  !  —  voila  leur 
sang ;  "  and  he  shook  the  curtains  fiercely. 

"  Humour  him,  dear,"  said  the  widow  to  Rory  ; 
''the  crayther 's  ravin':  purtend  you  know  all  about  it 
—  that's  the  best  way  to  soother  him." 

"  Sure  I  dunna  what  he  's  sayin'  —  he  's  muttherin' 
ghibberish  there." 

"  Well,  do  you  mutther  ghibberish  too,"  said  the 
widow,  and  left  the  room. 

"  Repondez  vite,  caporal"  said  the  invalid. 

"  Hullabaloo  ! "  shouted  Rory. 

"  ^I'est-ce  que  c' est  ?  " 

"  Hullabaloo  !  "   cried  Rory'  again. 

"  Vous  etes  etranger"  said  the  poor  sufferer ; 
"  tremhle-z  !  esclave^  tremblez  !  rende%-vous !  "  and  he 
jumped  up  in  bed  —  "  rendez  au  drapeau  tricolor  !  " 

"  A  dhrop  o'  what  ?  "  said  Rory. 


Rory  0' More  ^i 

«  Vive  le  drapeau  tricolor  !  "   cried  De  Lacy. 

Rory  left  the  room,  and  told  his  mother  he  believed 
"  the  poor  gintleman  was  callin'  for  a  dhrop  o'  some- 
thing." She  entered  with  more  hot  drink,  and  asked 
the  sick  man  to  swallow ;  "  It  'ill  do  you  good, 
dear,"   said    she. 

"  Is  there  any  thing  you  'd  like  betther,  sir  ?  "  said 
Rory  ;  "  and  if  it 's  to  be  had  I  '11  get  it  for  you." 

The  stranger  seemed  to  be  recalled  from  his 
raving  a  moment  by  the  sounds  of  another  language 
upon  his  ears;  and  looking  wildly  again  at  Rory  and 
his  mother,  and  the  bed,  he  said,  "  This  is  not  my 
tent  —  who  are  you  ?  —  where  am  I  ?  "  —  and  he 
flung  the  bed-clothes  down  from  him;  — then  seeing 
the  red  cloak  wrapped  round  him,  he  said  fiercely, 
"  Take  this  accursed  cloth  from  off  me,  —  I'm  no 
slave  of  the  English  tyrants  ;  —  where 's  my  blue 
uniform  ?  " 

"  Lie  down,  dear,  lie  down,"  said  the  widow. 

"  Never  !  "  said  the  sick  man,  —  "  we  '11  never  lie 
down  under  tyranny  !  "  and  he  attempted  to  jump 
from  the  bed. 

"  Rory  dear,  howld  him,"  said  the  widow,  — 
"  howld  him,  or  he  '11  be  out ;  and  if  he  catches 
cowld,    he's    lost." 

Rory  now  by  force  held  down  the  sufferer,  who 
struggled  violently  for  a  while,  but,  becoming  ex- 
hausted, sank  back  on  the  bed  and  groaned  aloud. 
^'  Ah  !  I  see  what  my  fate  is, —  I  'm  a  prisoner  in  the 
hands  of  the  accursed  English  !  " 

For  some  time  he  now  lay  quieter,  and  Mary  was 
left  to  watch  in  his  chamber  while  Rory  was  absent 
for  some  drugs  his  mother  sent  him  for  to  the  neigh- 
bouring village.  During  her  sojourn  in  the  room, 
Mary  often  heard  the  stranger  lamenting  his  fate  in 
a   plaintive   tone,  and   calling   on  a  female  name  in 


72  Rory  O'More 

passionate  accents.  In  this  state  for  some  days  the 
patient  continued ;  his  paroxysms  of  raving  being 
but  varieties  of  lamenting  his  fate  as  a  prisoner,  call- 
ing for  his  blue  uniform,  and  invoking  a  female  name. 
From  the  nature  of  all  this  raving,  Rory  and  Mary 
drew  each  their  own  conclusions.  Rory,  from  his 
knowledge  of  the  stranger's  bearing  and  opinions 
before  he  fell  sick,  and  from  the  tone  of  his  subse- 
quent delirium,  suspected  he  was  an  officer  in  the 
French  army  ;  and  Mary,  from  his  frequent  calling 
on  a  female  name,  had  no  doubt  he  was  in  love. 
Now,  to  the  end  of  time,  Mary  could  never  have 
guessed  at  the  stranger's  profession,  nor  Rory  at  the 
state  of  his  heart  :  but  these  are  the  delicate  shades 
of  difference  that  exist  between  the  mind  of  man  and 
woman.  The  sympathies  of  the  former  are  alive  to 
turmoil  and  strife  ;  those  of  the  latter,  to  the  gentle 
workings  of  our  nature  :  the  finer  feelings  of  a  wo- 
man vibrate  with  magic  quickness  to  the  smallest 
indications  of  affection  ;  while  man,  like  the  v/ar-horse 
of  the  Psalmist,  "  smelleth  the  battle  afar  off." 

Both  Rory  and  Mary  were  right  in  their  conclu- 
sions :  the  sick  stranger  was  an  officer  in  the  French 
service,  and  also  was  in  love. 

With  respect  to  the  love  affair,  the  tangled  busi- 
ness may  go  tangling  on,  as  the  more  tangled  such 
affairs  become  the  better ;  but  of  the  stranger's  name 
and  purposes  it  is  time  the  reader  should  be  informed. 


CHAPTER   VI 

IN    WHICH    A    GENTLEMAN    WRITES    A    LETTER    AS 
LONG    AS    A    lady's 

HORACE  DE  LACY  was  the  stranger's  name. 
Descended  from  the  noble  race  of  De  Lacy, 
one  of  the  original  conquerors  of  Ireland,  he  inherited 
all  the  fire  and  courage  of  his  ancestors ;  but  now, 
the  descendant  of  the  enslaver  became  the  champion 
of  liberty,  and  panted  with  as  burning  a  zeal  for  the 
regeneration  of  his  country  as  his  ancestors  had  done 
for  her  subjugation,  for  Ireland  was  now  his  native 
land,  and  the  remark  so  often  made  in  the  chronicles 
of  England,  that  the  descendants  of  English  settlers 
in  Ireland  became  more  fierce  in  their  rebellion  than 
the  natives  themselves,  was  about  to  be  once  more 
verified  in  the   person  of  Horace  De  Lacy. 

Though  an  Irishman  by  birth,  he  had  for  some 
years  been  resident  in  France.  There  he  imbibed 
all  the  fierce  enthusiasm  to  which  the  epoch  of  the 
French  revolution  gave  birth,  and  the  aspirations  for 
universal  liberty  which  fired  his  young  heart  were 
first  directed  to  his  native  land.  As  early  as  1794, 
communications  were  carried  forward  between  the 
disaffected  in  Ireland  and  the  French  executive  :  and 
Doctor  Jackson,  one  of  the  agents  at  that  period, 
was  discovered,  and  would  have  been  hanged,  but 
that  he  escaped  the  ignominious  death  by  swallowing 
poison  in  the  dock,  where  he  died  in  the  face  of  his 


74  Rory  O'More 

accusers  and  his  judges.  The  death  of  Jackson  pro- 
duced a  great  sensation  in  Ireland.  It  made  the 
rapacious  and  intolerant  faction  that  then  ruled  the 
country,  more  insolent ;  and  those  who  cursed  their 
rule  and  endeavoured  to  overthrow  it,  more  cautious. 

The  result  was  fearful.  Wrong  was  heaped  upon 
wrong  by  the  oppressor ;  —  suffered  in  hopelessness, 
but  remembered^  by  the  oppressed.  Each  new  aggres- 
sion on  the  one  side  produced  a  debt  of  hatred  on  the 
other,  and  the  account  was  carried  on  with  compound 
interest. 

In  1797,  another  communication  was  opened  be- 
tween the  disaffected  in  Ireland  and  the  executive  of 
the  French  government,  and  De  Lacy  was  one  of 
the  agents.  He  was  an  officer  in  the  French  army, 
and  volunteered  to  undertake  the  dangerous  duty  of 
visiting  Ireland  and  England,  with  a  view  'of  ascer- 
taining the  probable  likelihood  of  success  in  a  revolu- 
tionary movement  in  the  one  country,  and  the  state 
of  feeling  as  regarded  a  desire  of  revolution  in  the  other. 

In  France,  at  that  period,  it  is  singular  the  total 
ignorance  that  existed  with  relation  to  the  state  of  the 
united  dominions  of  Great  Britain.  Repeatedly  as 
they  had  been  assured  of  the  certainty  of  co-operation 
in  a  descent  upon  Ireland,  and  the  futility  of  any  such 
attempt  upon  England,  nevertheless  the  absurd  scheme 
was  entertained  of  letting  loose  some  French  despera- 
does in  England,  and  carrying  on  a  system  of  Chouan- 
nerie  in  that  country. 

The  most  active  and  intelligent  of  the  Irish  emis- 
saries, Theobald  Wolfe  Tone,  then  resident  at  Paris, 
had  repeatedly  assured  the  French  executive  that  such 
a  plan  was  worse  than  hopeless,  but  still  they  were 
not  convinced;  and  General  Clarke,  then  minister  of 
war,  because  he  bore  an  Irish  name,  and  was  of  Irish 
descent,  thinking    he   must  know  something   of  the 


Rory  O'More  75 

matter,  though  he  never  had  set  foot  in  the  country, 
helped  to  strengthen  them  in  this  belief,  and  notwith- 
standing all  the  assurances  and  arguments  of  Tone, 
Clarke  would  not  be  satisfied  of  the  truth  of  such 
statements  without  having  an  emissary  of  his  own  to 
visit  the  country  and  report  upon  it. 

De  Lacy  was  the  person  who  volunteered  this  ser- 
vice ;  and,  crossing  the  Channel  in  the  boat  of  a 
smugcrler,  who  knew  the  coast  well,  and  was  in  con- 
stant habit  of  communication  with  both  England  and 
Ireland,  —  but  particularly  the  latter,  —  he  had  been 
for  some  time  in  London  and  through  the  English 
provinces  before  he  visited  Ireland.  There  he  had 
but  recently  arrived  when  Rory  O'More  met  him 
as  a  travelling  companion  ;  and  of  the  events  of  his 
journey  since,  the  reader  is  in  possession. 

What  impressions  his  observations  in  England  pro- 
duced may  be  seen  by  the  following  letter,  which  vas 
forwarded  to  France  by  a  sailor  on  board  a  vessel 
which  traded  between  Dublin  and  France,  under 
Swedish  colours,  and  under  the  particular  patronage  of 

Lord ,  then  high  in  the  government  of  Ireland, 

and  the  most  vindictive  enemy  of  the  liberal  party. 

It  may  be  asked,  why  did  Lord permit,  much 

less  patronise,  this  proceeding  ?  It  was  because  the 
vessel  was  chartered  by  a  certain  merchant  to  whom 
he  was  indebted  in  large  loans  of  money ;  and  the 
accommodation  thus  afforded  was  partly  paid  by  the 
exclusive   permission    of   trading    with    France    thus 

granted    by    Lord  ,  whose    influence   in   Ireland 

was  then  so  paramount,  that  a  word  from  him  was 
sufficient  to  guarantee  the  safety  of  his  friend's  ship, 
by  the  willing  blindness  of  the  commissioners  of 
customs,  who  always  treated  this  make-believe 
Swedish  vessel  with  the  most  exemplary  indulgence. 
Certain  intelligence  from  France,  too,  was  procured 


76  Rory  O'More 

in  this  way:  but  while  the  noble  lord  and  his  party 
thus  obtained  information,  they  little  dreamed  that 
the  same  channel  was  used  for  the  transmission  of 
intelligence  between  their  enemies. 

In  the  packet  of  information  that  follows,  the 
reader  must  not  be  startled  at  its  high-sounding  style  : 
the  tone  of  the  period  was  extravagant,  particularly 
in  France ;  and  De  Lacy  was  of  that  age  and  of  that 
profession  which  delights  in  flourishes  whether  of 
trumpets  or  words.  The  packet  was  addressed  to  a 
certain  "  Citizen  Madgett "  at  Paris,  well  known  in 
those  days  to  the  Irish  republican  party,  and  to  whom 
General  Clarke  had  desired  De  Lacy's  communica- 
tions to  be  made.     Its  contents  ran  thus  :  — 

"  You  know  with  what  feelings  I  left  France.  I 
rejoiced  there,  in  common  with  my  fellows,  in  the 
triumph  that  right  had  achieved  over  wrong  ;  in  the 
majesty  of  human  nature  overcoming  the  kings  that 
would  have  enslaved  her ;  in  the  brilliant  era  of 
retribution  and  resuscitation  that  more  than  redeemed 
the  tyranny  and  suffering  that  gave  it  birth.  You 
know  how  I  hoped,  in  the  warmth  of  my  head  and 
heart,  that  the  rest  of  mankind  should  share  in  the 
blessings  we  had  so  dearly  purchased  v/ith  our  blood, 
and  that  man,  freed  from  the  thraldom  of  ages,  should 
form  but  one  family  ;  that  the  prejudices  and  distinc- 
tions of  countries  should  be  forgotten,  and  regenerated 
mankind,  as  one  nation,  kneel,  Peruvian-like,  to  the 
newly-risen  sun  of  their  freedom. 

"  But  this  glorious  dream  has  been  disturbed  since 
I  left  you.  I  visited  England  with  the  view  of 
kindling  on  a  thousand  altars  the  fire  of  liberty  that  I 
bore  with  me  from  liberty's  own  temple :  but  the 
moral  as  well  as  the  natural  atmosphere  of  England  is 
damp  and  chilly,  compared  with  the  country  of  the 


Rory  O'More  ^j 

vine,  and  I  found  myself  a  disappointed  enthusiast, 
with  few  or  none  to  share  in  my  raptures.  Aly 
hymn  of  liberty  was  not  half  so  cheering  to  me  as 
the  clank  of  John  Bull's  chains  to  his  own  ears  (and 
long  enough  they  are)  ;  and  a  priest  of  liberty,  like 
any  other  priest,  cuts  a  very  contemptible  figure  with- 
out a  congregation. 

"  So,  after  some  little  time,  seeing  the  state  of 
affairs  stand  thus,  I  began  to  look  about  me  with 
more  observation.  '  Perhaps,'  said  I  to  myself,  'John 
Bull  is  like  his  own  flint-stones,  with  fire  enough  in 
him,  only  you  must  strike  him  hard  ; '  and  so  I  laid 
myself  out  for  observation,  and  was  on  the  alert  for 
every  grievance. 

"  I  was  baffled  in  making  any  great  advances 
towards  my  object,  and  after  some  time  fruitlessly 
spent,  it  struck  me  that  the  capital  city  of  a  kingdom 
is  not  the  place  to  judge  of  the  real  state  of  a  country, 
or  measure  the  feelings  of  the  people.  '  Here,'  said 
I,  'in  London,  where  peers  have  their  palaces,  and 
merchants  their  mansions :  where  wasteful  wealth 
and  lavish  luxury  deprave  the  whole  community,  and 
blinding  the  citizen  to  the  real  state  of  things,  make 
him  believe,  because  he  is  a  sharer  in  the  plunder  they 
are  wasting,  that  he  is  a  gainer  by  their  extravagance; 
—  here  is  not  the  place  to  hope  for  the  altar  of  free- 
dom, and  the  rights  of  regenerated  man  to  be  respected. 
The  Londoner  will  endure  the  abuses  of  his  time  be- 
cause he  enjoys  from  them  a  temporary  benefit,  and 
even  upholds  the  very  tyranny  of  which  he  himself 
will  be  the  last  to  suffer.  But  to  be  the  last  in  suf- 
fering is  considered  a  wondrous  gain  in  our  contempt- 
ible natures.  How  like  men  are  to  children  in  such 
matters  !  I  remember,  at  school,  how  the  timid 
boys  hung  back  from  a  cup  of  medicine,  or  the  cold- 
bath,  or  punishment,  and  the  wretch  who  was  last 


78  Rory  O'More 

drenched  with  rhubarb,  shoved  into  the  river,  or 
flogged,  thought  himself  a  clever  fellow,  and  enjoyed 
a  sort  of  per  centage  on  the  suffering  that  had  gone 
before  him.  So  is  it,'  thought  I, '  with  the  Londoner  : 
but  I  will  go  into  the  country,  and  there,  in  the  in- 
terior of  England,  observe  the  canker  that  is  at  her 
heart ;  and  while  I  observe  the  disease,  I  will  incul- 
cate the  remedy.' 

*'  With  this  view  I  quitted  the  capital  and  visited 
a  village.  The  lord  of  the  soil  (one  of  the  magnifi- 
cent English  baronets)  I  knew  was  in  the  capital  at 
the  time,  and  from  his  neglected  and  forsaken  tenantry 
I  might  hope  to  hear  the  murmurs  of  dissatisfaction 
and  the  desire  of  redress.  But  in  this  I  was  dis- 
appointed. I  wished  to  see  what  extent  of  domain 
the  aristocrat  appropriated  to  his  own  enjoyment 
(when  he  was  at  home),  and  walked  towards  '  the 
Honor,'  as  it  is  called,  in  expectation  of  seeing  the 
shutters  closed,  and  grass  growing  through  the  ave- 
nues. I  leaped  a  fence,  and  proceeded  through  a  rich 
field  and  a  piece  of  beautiful  plantation,  until  I  was 
accosted  by  a  well-dressed  peasant,  who  asked  me, 
somewhat  sturdily,  what  brought  me  there.  I  told 
him  I  was  going  to  look  over  the  grounds  and  see  the 
house.  He  asked  me,  had  I  got  leave,  and  how  did 
I  get  in  ?  On  telling  him  how,  he  said  th.at  crossing 
the  fence  was  not  permitted,  and  suggested  my  going 
back.  I  said,  if  the  family  were  at  home,  I  would 
not  have  taken  the  liberty  to  intrude;  but  in  their 
absence  there  could  be  no  offence.  '  Sir  Richard  is 
quite  as  particular  when  he  is  away,'  was  the  answer. 
'Is  he  so  very  churlish,'  said  I,  '  as  to  object  to  a 
gentleman  crossing  his  domain  when  he  is  away,  and 
when  his  privacy  cannot  be  invaded  ? '  '  Oh,  whether 
he  's  here  or  not,  is  no  odds,'  replied  the  man  ;  '  for 
strangers  running  in  and  out  of  the  park  would  spoil 


Rory  O'^More  79 

it  just  as  much,  whether  Sir  Richard  be  here  or  no.' 

*  Then   he  keeps  up  his   park  at  all  times  ? '  said   I. 

*  To  be  sure,  sir,  he  do,'  said  the  man,  looking  at  me 
as  if  he  did  not  know  whether  I  was  a  rogue  or  a 
simpleton.  '  And  may  I  not  be  permitted  to  walk 
through  the  park  ? '  '  Why,  sir,  if  you  get  leave  of 
Mr.  Lowndes,  or  Mr.  Banks,  or  the  steward,  or  the 

agent,  or '      And   on  he  went,  telling  me  how 

many  people  could  give  me  leave,  till  I  interrupted 
him  by  saying,  '  Why,  you  have  a  large  establishment 
here.'  'Oh,  yes,  sir,'  said  he;  'it's  all  the  same, 
like,  whether  Sir  Richard  be  here  or  no  —  except  that 
there  's  not  the  company  at  the  house.'  '  And  who 
may  you  be  ? '  I  inquired.  '  One  of  the  keepers,  sir.' 
'  Well,'  said  I,  '  as  I  have  not  time  to  ask  any  of  the 
people  you  have  named,  perhaps  you  would  be  so 
obliging,'  —  and  all  the  time  I  kept  a  telegraphic 
fumbling  of  my   right  hand   in   my  waistcoat  pocket, 

—  'you  would  be  so  obliging  as  to  show  me  up  to 
the  house,'  and  as  I  finished  my  query,  I  slided  a 
half-crown  backwards  and  forwards  between  my  fore- 
finger and  thumb.  '  Why,  sir,'  said  the  keeper,  '  as  I 
sees  you  're  a  gen'lman,'  —  and  he  looked,  not  at  me, 
but  at  the  half-crown,  —  'I  cawn't  see  no  objections;' 
and  a  transfer  of  my  money  and  his  civility  at  once 
was  effected. 

"  My  guide  led  me  through  a  splendid  park  towards 
the  house  :  no  grass  growing  through  the  walks,  as  I 
anticipated,  —  but  beautifully  kept,  as  if  the  lord  of 
the  soil  were  present.  We  reached  the  house :  no 
closed  shutters,  but  half-open  windows,  and  the  cur- 
tains from  within,  caught  by  the  breeze,  peeping  out 
to  visit  the  roses  that  were  peeping  in  to  meet  them 

—  a  sort  of  flirtation  between  the  elegancies  of  the 
interior  and  exterior. 

"  On    entering   the   house,   I    found   myself   in    a 


8o  Rory  O'More 

square  nail,  lined  throughout  with  oak.  The  ceiling 
was  low  and  divided  by  richly-carved  octagonal  frame- 
work into  compartments  ;  the  polished  floor  was  also 
inlaid  after  the  same  pattern,  and  the  wainscot  elab- 
orately panelled  and  covered  with  curious  carving. 
Old  suits  of  armour,  cross-bows,  bills,  partisans,  two- 
handed  swords,  and  other  weapons,  were  distributed 
around  the  apartment;  and  an  enormous  blood-hound 
lay  stretched  upon  the  floor,  basking  in  the  sun,  and 
seemed  a  suitable  tenant  of  this  domestic  armoury. 
I  strolled  through  room  after  room,  and  an  air  of 
habitual  wealth   prevailed  throughout. 

"  There  was  an  old  library,  with  pieces  of  buhl 
furniture,  and  old  ebony  seats  and  chairs,  with  large 
down  cushions,  where  one  might  luxuriate  in  learn- 
ing. And  this  delightful  old  room  looked  out  on  an 
antique-looking  garden,  whose  closely-cut  grass-plots 
were  like  velvets,  and  divided  by  high  hedge-rows  of 
yew,  cropt  as  smooth  as  a  wall.  Then  a  large  cedar 
spread  his  dusky  branches  so  close  to  the  v/indows 
as  to  exclude  some  portion  of  the  light,  and  produce 
that  demi-jour  so  suitable  to  a  place  of  study.  There 
were  pictures  throughout  the  house,  principally  por- 
traits, of  which  the  English  are  so  fond  —  some  of 
them  very  good,  sufficiently  so  to  be  valuable  as 
works  of  art.  Holbein  and  Vandyke  had  immortal- 
ised some  of  the  former  owners  of  the  Honor  ;  and 
there  they  hung  in  goodly  succession,  holding  a  place 
on  the  walls  of  the  chateau  they  had  successively 
been  masters  of.  The  seal  of  Time  was  on  all  this 
evidence;  —  here  from  sire  to  son  had  plenty  been 
transmitted,  and  wealth  and  comfort  were  hereditary. 
There  was,  withal,  such  an  air  of  peace  and  tranquil- 
lity about  the  old  place,  that  it  was  quite  soothing : 
you  could  hear  through  the  open  casements  the  rust- 
ling of  the  flowers  in  the  garden,  as  the  warm  breeze 


Rory  O'More  8i 

whispered  through  them  and  wafted  their  fragrance 
into  the  library.  Could  one,  at  such  a  moment, 
think  hopefully  of  revolution  ?  —  where  so  much 
comfort  existed,  there  also  would  exist  the  love  of 
repose.  I  confess  I  was  overcome  by  the  influence 
of  all  I  had  seen,  and  convinced  that  Tone  is  quite 
right.  On  quitting  the  Honor,  however,  I  con- 
sidered that  though  the  aristocracy  might  revel  in 
such  enjoyments  as  these,  the  great  mass  of  the 
people  would  be  willing  to  invade  a  repose  that  was 
purchased  at  the  price  of  their  labour  and  taxation, 
and  a  system  where  the  many  were  sacrificed  to  the 
few.  *■  It  is  not  in  Allenby  Honor  I  must  look,' 
thought  I,  '  but  in  the  village.' 

"  Here,  after  days  of  observation,  I  confess  I 
think  the  hope  of  revolutionising  England  quite  ab- 
surd. The  comforts  of  the  people  are  generally 
such,  that  men  with  less  caution  than  the  English 
would  not  risk  the  loss  of  them  in  the  hope  of  specu- 
lative blessings.  Their  houses  are  well  built,  and  so 
beautifully  clean! — but  not  merely  clean — a  love 
of  embellishment  is  to  be  seen  :  trailing  plants  perhaps 
festoon  their  windows  round  a  bit  of  trellis,  a  white 
curtain  peeping  from  within ;  there  is  a  neat  paling 
round  the  house,  and  flowers  within  this  fence  ;  — 
the  cultivation  of  flowers  in  the  little  gardens  of  the 
lower  orders,  bespeaks  a  country  in  contentment. 
Then  the  better  class  of  dwelling,  with  its  paved 
walk  leading  up  from  the  outer  gate  through  ever- 
greens, and  its  bright  brass  knocker  and  bell-pull, 
and  white  steps,  that  seem  as  if  they  had  been 
washed  the  minute  before;  the  windows  so  clean, 
with  their  Venetian  blinds  inside  and  fresh  paint 
without  :  in  short,  I  could  not  enumerate  a  twen- 
tieth part  of  these  trifling  evidences  that  go  to  prove 
the  ease  and  prosperity  of  these  people. 

VOL.   I.  —  6 


82  Rory  O'More 

"  Their  domestic  arrangements  keep  pace  with 
this  outward  show.  They  are  universally  well  found 
in  the  essential  comforts  of  life ;  —  they  have  good 
beds,  are  well  clothed  and  well  fed.  I  saw  an  old 
fellow  yesterday  evening  driving  his  water-cart  to  the 
river,  and  he  was  as  fat  and  rosy  as  an  alderman :  the 
cart  and  the  water-barrel  upon  it  were  nicely  painted, 
and  as  the  little  donkey  drew  it  along,  the  old  fellow 
trudged  beside  it,  comforting  himself  with  the  sup- 
port of  a  stick.  Fancy  a  peasant  with  a  walking- 
stick  !  —  do  you  think  that  fellow  would  turn  rebel  ? 

—  never ! 

"  On  a  little  green  beside  the  village,  some  boys 
were  playing  at  cricket :  they  had  their  bats  and 
ball  —  poverty  cannot  be  here  when  peasants  can 
buy  the  materials  of  play  for  their  children.  Then 
the  children  seemed  so  careful  !  —  the  coats  and  hats 
they  had  taken  off  during  their  exercise  were  piled  in 
a  heap  at  a  distance,  and  when  their  game  was  fin- 
ished, they  dressed  themselves  with  such  regularity  ! 

—  and  with  what  good  clothes  they  were  provided  ! 
"This  is  not  the   country  for  revolution! — such 

is  my  firm  conviction.  There  are  some  in  England 
who  hail  with  rapture  the  dawn  of  liberty,  and  wish 
that  its  splendour  may  lighten  all  nations ;  but  that 
number  is  comparatively  small,  and  I  cannot  wonder 
at  it,  after  all  I  have  seen.  Believe  me,  there  are 
few  men  in  England  like  Home  Tooke.  By  the  by, 
I  must  tell  you  a  capital  thing  he  said  the  other  day. 
The  conversation  ran  upon  definitions,  and  some  one 
said  it  would  be  very  hard  to  define  what  was  treason. 
'  Not  at  all,'  said  Home  Tooke  :  '  it  is  nothing  but 
reason  with  a  /  to  it.'  — Was  n't  it  capital  ? 

"  To  conclude,  —  Tone  is  right.  I  repeat  it,  no 
hopes  can  be  entertained  of  revolutionising  England. 

"  I  go  to  Ireland  next  week;  and  from  all  I  can 


Rory  O'More 


learn  here,  matters  promise  better  for  us  there.  I 
carry  this  letter  with  me  to  Dublin,  whence  I  shall 
transmit  it  to  you  by  our  Swedish  friend.  You  shall 
hear  from  me  again,  immediately  that  I  hav^e  made 
my  observations. 

"  H.  D.  L." 

Now,  bating  the  flourishes  about  freedom  and 
regenerated  mankind,  there  is  much  good  sense  and 
shrewd  observation  in  this  letter.  It  will  be  per- 
ceived, that  however  great  his  revolutionary  enthu- 
siasm, it  did  not  carry  him  away  into  the  folly  of 
believing  in  impossibilities :  he  saw,  and  said,  that 
England  could  not  be  revolutionised,  for  her  people 
enjoyed  too  many  comforts  to  throw  them  away 
in  a  civil  war.  This  temperate  tone  is  noticed  to 
the  reader,  to  show  that  De  Lacy  was  a  trusty  agent 
in  the  cause  he  undertook;  that,  uninfluenced  by 
his  preconceived  notions,  and  in  the  very  teeth  of 
his  wishes,  he  saw  England  was  beyond  the  reach 
of  revolutionary  influence,  and  pointed  out  the  rea- 
sons why.  Let  the  reader  mark  the  calm  and  judi- 
cious observation  of  the  man,  for  in  due  time  another 
letter  of  his  will  appear,  describing  the  state  of  Ire- 
land;  and  the  influence  of  that  letter  will  be  the 
greater  bv  remembering  the  foregoing  one,  and  bear- 
ing in  mind  that  the  same  man,  exercising  the  same 
observation,  and  with  the  same  desire  to  ascertain  the 
real  probability  of  success  in  a  revolutionary  move- 
ment, is  the  writer.  The  wishes  and  hopes  of  the 
republican  were  utterly  overthrown  by  the  security 
and  prosperity  of  England,  but  he  found  in  the 
misery  and  misrule  of  Ireland  the  ready  materials 
for  a  country's  convulsion. 


CHAPTER   VII 

A    MAN    OF    LAW    AND    PHYSIC 
"  He  was  a  man  to  all  the  country  dear  I  " 

DE  LACY'S  fever  continued  to  rage,  and  his 
raving  to  proceed  in  their  usual  course.  Tu^o 
things  were  in  his  favour,  his  fury  at  the  red  cloth 
obliged  the  Widow  O'More  to  give  up  that  hope  of 
recovering  her  patient ;  and  all  her  ingenuity  could 
not  induce  him  to  take  whisky,  even  in  the  most 
diluted  form.  Sometimes,  when  the  poor  sufferer 
had  been  calling  for  drink  for  some  time,  the  cunning 
prescriber  would  enter  with  a  vessel  of  liquid  con- 
taining a  portion  of  the  favourite  medicine,  and  hop- 
ing that  the  anxiety  for  any  alleviation  of  thirst  would 
make  him  swallow  it  without  examination,  she  would 
say  —  "Now,  dear,  here  'tis  for  you.  Dhrink  it  up 
at  once,  —  dhrink  it  up  big  !  " 

Poor  De  Lacy  would  seize  the  vessel  with  avidity, 
and  make  a  rush  with  open  mouth  upon  it ;  but  the 
moment  the  presence  of  whisky  was  apparent,  he 
would  refuse  it.  In  mere  charity,  at  last,  though 
without  any  hope  of  doing  him  good,  the  widow 
made  him  some  plain  two-milk  whey,  and  this  he 
swallowed  with  that  fierce  desire  for  drink  that  the 
thirst  of  fever  or  the  Desert  only  knows. 

Rory  procured  the  drugs  his  mother  ordered  at  the 
village,  and  brought  them  back  to  her  with  all  the 
speed  that  might  be.     What  they  were  it  is  needless 


Rory  O'More  85 

to  know,  and  perhaps  the  Faculty  might  or  might 
not  be  benefited  by  the  knowledge  ;  but  as  vaccina- 
tion has  triumphed  over  the  terrible  plague  that  then 
scourged  mankind,  it  is  unnecessary  to  seek  what 
were  the  nostrums  the  widow  employed  in  her  medi- 
cal capacitv. 

"  Who  do  you  think  did  I  meet  at  M'Garry's 
to-day,  whin  I  wint  there  for  the  physic  ? "  said 
Rory  on  his  return. 

"  Arrah,  who  thin  ?  "   said  his  mother. 

"Sweeny  ! " 

"  Is  it  Sweeny  ?  " 

"  Divil  a  less  !  " 

"  I  wondher  he  is  n't  ashamed  to  go  the  place,  the 
dirty  scut !  His  father  was  a  'pottekerry,  and  he 
must  turn  atturney  ;  and  instead  of  follyin'  his  dacent 
father's  business  before  him,  and  attindin'  to  the 
'pottekerryin',  it  's  the  'turneyin'  he  must  be  afther — 
bad  luck  to  him  !  —  and  instead  of  doin'  people 
good,  and  curin'  them  of  any  thing  might  come  over 
thim,  he  's  doin'  thim  all  the  harm  he  can,  and  laving 
them  without  any  thing  over  them,  —  not  as  much  as 
a  blanket,  much  less  a  house.  His  father  used  to 
cure  'ructions,-^  but  he  's  risin'  them  :  and,  as  I  said 
before,  I  wondher  he  's  not  ashamed  to  go  into  the 
owld  shop,  for  it  ought  to  remind  him  that  he  might 
be  a  dacent  'pottekerry,  instead  of  a  skrezvgitig  'turney, 
as  he  is  :  and  more  betoken,  the  dirty  little  'turney 
to  set  up  to  be  a  gintleman,  and  for  that  same  to 
change  his  blessed  and  holy  religion,  and  turn 
prod'stant !      Oh,  the  little  vagabone  !  " 

Now  it  will  be  seen  the  widow  wound  up  her 
philippic  against  Sweeny  by  placing  the  heaviest 
offence  the  last ;  —  "  He  turned  prod'stant ;  "  —  this 
was  the  great  crime  in  the  widow's  eyes,  and  indeed 

^  Ruction  signifies  a  breaking  out,  a  disturbance. 


86  Rory  O'More 

in  those  of  most  of  the  people  of  her  class.  Sweeny 
might  have  robbed  all  Ireland,  and  suffered  less  in 
their  opinion  than  by  the  fact  of  his  going  to  church. 
Poor  Ireland  !  —  the  great  question  of  a  man's  vice 
or  virtue,  fitness  or  unfitness,  talent  or  stupidity, 
wisdom  or  folly,  treason  or  loyalty,  was  answered 
in  those  days  by  the  fact  of  whether  he  went  to 
a  protestant  church  or  a  catholic  chapel.  The  two 
sects  disliked  each  other  equally ;  but  the  protestant 
born  and  bred  was  not  half  so  much  loathed  as  the 
apostate  who  renounced  the  faith  of  his  fathers  for 
"  the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt ;  "  and  the  Roman  catholics 
were  the  more  jealous  of  this  defection,  because  they 
never  had  any  converts  from  the  protestants  in  return, 
and  for  the  best  reason  in  the  world, —  there  was 
nothing  to  he  made  by  it. 

Now  It  was  by  a  process  of  consecutive  reasoning 
that  Sweeny  had  renounced  physic  and  popery,  and 
assumed  the  attorney  and  ascendency.  He  gave  up 
the  healing  art  because  he  saw  his  father  could  make 
nothing  of  it.  How  could  he  ?  When  a  population 
is  so  poor  as  not  to  be  able  to  afford  the  necessaries 
of  life,  they  cannot  be  expected  to  command  the 
remedies  against  death :  if  they  cannot  buy  bread, 
they  will  hardly  buy  physic.  So  Sweeny  the  younger 
turned  his  attention  towards  the  law,  which  is  an 
amusement  that  those  who  have  something  to  lose 
deal  in,  and  therefore  belongs  more  to  the  richer 
classes,  —  or,  as  they  call  themselves,  the  better 
classes. 

Now  as  these  better  {alias  richer)  classes  in  Ireland 
were  on  the  side  of  the  protestants.  Sweeny  thought 
that  conforming  to  the  church  as  by  law  established 
would  be  a  move  in  his  favour,  and  accordingly  he 
(to  use  the  words  of  a  paragraph  in  one  of  the 
government   papers    of    the    day)    "  renounced    the 


Rory  O^More  87 

errors  of  the  church  of  Rome,  and  embraced  those 
of  the  church  of  England." 

He  had  lived  long  enough  with  his  father  to  pick 
up  a  few  words  of  apothecary  Latin,  and  these  he 
mixed  with  a  vile  jargon  of  his  own,  which  he  im- 
posed on  people  for  medical  knowledge;  and  although 
as  ignorant  as  a  horse  in  every  way,  he  had  the  im- 
pudence to  enact  the  amateur  doctor,  and  gave  advice 
gratis  in  phvsic  to  his  clients  in  law.  This  dabbling 
in  doctoring  permitted  him  to  indulge  in  a  ruling 
propensity  of  his  nature,  which  was,  curiositv  :  while 
he  played  the  doctor,  he  could  play  the  inquisitor ; 
and  by  his  joint  possession  of  cunning  and  impudence, 
it  is  surprising  how  he  used  to  ferret  out  intelligence. 
He  seldom  ventured  on  giving  prescriptions  of  his 
own,  and  to  avoid  this,  he  always  recommended  some 
patent  medicine,  a  supplv  of  which  he  kept  by  him 
to  furnish  to  his  friends,  and  he  charged  them  a 
handsome  profit   on    the  same.      He    would    sav,  — 

"  Mv  dear  ma'am,  don't  be  going  to  that  dreadful 
M'Garry  !  You  '11  ruin  your  health  —  your  precious 
health  !  you  can't  depend  upon  his  drugs  at  all  :  he 
has  n't  them  pure  —  how  could  he,  poor  creature  ! 
I  would  give  you  a  recipe  if  his  drugs  could  be  de- 
pended upon  ;  but  they  positively  cannot.  Suppose 
now,  my  dear  ma'am,  —  suppose  your  little  nerves 
got  out  of  order,  and  I  wished  to  give  you  something 
of  an  alluviating  nature,  I  might  wish  to  exhibit  a 
small  dose  of  hippopotamus^  and  most  likely  he,  not 
having  the  article  in  his  cornucopia^  might  give  you 
vox  populi.  Now  only  fancy  your  swallowing  vox 
populi  instead  of  hippopotamus  !  There's  no  knowing 
what  the  consequence  might  be  ;  perhaps  utter  prosti- 
tution—  prostitution  of  strength  I  mean:  — only 
fancy  !  I  tell  you,  M'Garry  is  dangerous  ;  besides, 
M'Garry    keeps    the    Post-office,  —  and   how   can    a 


88  Rory  O'More 

man  mind  the  post  and  his  profession? — or,  as  the 
Squire  most  fassyetiously  said  the  other  day,  '  How 
can  he  be  at  his  two  posts  at  once  ?  '  Ha,  ha  ! 
Very  good  —  was  n't  it  ?  Capital,  /  think.  But,  to 
be  serious,  M'Garry  's  dangerous  ;  he'd  better  throw 
his  physic  to  the  dogs,  as  the  Bard  of  Devon  says,  for 
't  is  fit  for  no  one  else.  You  had  better  let  me  send 
you  a  little  box  of  pills,  and  a  bottle  of  that  thing  I 
sent  you  before  ;  they  are  patent  medicines,  and  must 
be  good.  You  liked  the  last  —  did  n't  you  ?  Tastes 
rather  strongs  you  say  ;  so  much  the  better —  make  you 
strong  :  very  nice  though.  It  is  an  expensive  medi- 
cine, rather ;  but  what  o'  that  in  comparison  to  your 
precious  health  ?  Better  than  being  poisoned  with 
vox  popuU." 

Thus  would  this  impudent  and  ignorant  vagabond 
talk  his  vile  rubbish  to  the  fools  who  would  let  him 
send  them  his  patent  medicines,  and  charge  them  in 
his  bill. 

When  Sweeny  saw  Rory  O'More  getting  drugs  at 
M' Garry's,  he  asked  him  who  was  ill.  Rory,  not 
liking  him,  and  aware  of  his  prying  nature,  wished 
for  reasons  of  his  own  that  he  should  not  know  for 
whom  they  were  intended,  as  he  thought  it  possible 
the  animal  might  pay  a  visit  to  the  cottage  on  the 
plea  of  giving  advice,  and  see  the  stranger,  and  what 
would  be  worse,  hear  him  raving  too ;  and  Rory's 
surmises  as  to  the  profession  of  his  guest  made  him 
anxious  that  this  should  not  be.  He  accordingly 
evaded  all  the  questions  of  the  medical  attorney  as 
well  as  he  could,  and  left  him  without  giving  him 
any  information  on  the  subject.  But  this  was  quite 
enough  to  excite  Sweeny's  suspicion,  and  set  his 
curiosity  craving  ;  and  so  he  rode  out  the  next  day  to 
pay  Rory's  home  a  visit,  and  ferret  out  the  mystery. 
On  arriving  at  the  house,  he  hung  his  horse's  bridle- 


Ro7y  O'More  89 

reins  over  a  hook  near  the  door,  and  bolted  into  the 
cottage  at  once.  Rory,  his  mother,  and  sister,  were 
all  there ;  therefore,  it  was  a  plain  case  that  none  of 
the  family  were  ill. 

"  Good  morrow,  widow,"  said  Sv/eeny  in  his 
politest  manner,  —  "  glad  to  see  you  well,  ma'am, — 
and  you,  Mary  O'More  —  well  and  hearty  ;  —  all 
well,  I  see,  — glad  of  it.  I  was  afraid  some  one  was 
sick  —  saw  Rory  getting  drugs  yesterday  —  just  dropt 
in  as  I  was  coming  by,  to  see  could  I  offer  any 
advice  :   who  's  sick  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Sweeny,  I  'm  obleeged,"  said 
the  widow  coldly  ;  "  I  just  wanted  a  thrifle  o'  physic, 
and  so  Rory  wint  for  it  :  "  and  she  bustled  about, 
evidently  having  no  inclination  to  enter  into  conver- 
sation with  him,  and  letting  him  see  that  such  luas 
her  intention  :  but  Sweeny  was  not  to  be  put  off  so. 

"  Can  I  do  any  thing  in  the  way  of  advice,  Mrs. 
O'More  ?  " 

"  Yis,  indeed,  Mr.  Sweeny,  you  can  ;  and  I  think 
I  '11  be  going  over  to  you,  to  ask  about  a  little  bit  o' 
law  soon,  for  I  'm  having  an  alteration  made  in  my 
lase." 

"  Yes,  yes,  —  certainlv  —  law  business  —  certainly 
—  always  ready,  Mrs.  O'More:  but  I  mean  in  the 
medical  way,  —  you  know  I 'm  skilful  in  that  way, 
Mrs.  O'More, — and  as  there  's  some  one  sick  here, 
if  I  can  be  of  any  use,  I  '11  be  most  happy  —  most 
happy,  Mrs.  O'More." 

The  widow  saw  there  was  no  evading  the  attorney, 
and  so  she  said  a  traveller  had  been  going  the  road, 
and  was  taken  ill,  and  they  took  him  in  and  put  him 
to  bed  ;  but  "  it  would  n't  signify,  plase  God  !  and 
he'd  be  well  enough  in  a  day  or  two." 

"  If  I  can  be  of  any  use,  I  '11  see  him  with  pleasure." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  but  I  gave  him   something  my- 


90  Rory  O'More 

self  that  I  know  will  do  him  good  —  obleeged  to  you 
all  the  same." 

"  Is  he  poor  ?  "  said  Sweeny. 

"  I  never  asked  him  that,"  said  the  widow  re- 
proachfully. 

"  Of  course —  of  course  ;  —  but  then  I  mean,  you 
might  guess." 

"  Guess  !  "  said  Rory,  who  had  been  eyeing  Sweeny 
all  this  time  with  a  sidelong  glance  of  contempt,  — 
"  Guess  !  —  why,  thin  tare  an  ouns  !  do  you  think 
the  man 's  a  riddle  or  a  conundherum^  that  we  'd  be 
guessin'  at  him  ?  " 

All  the  time  this  conversation  was  going  on, 
Sweeny  kept  rolling  his  little  grey  eyes  about  him  ; 
and  at  last  he  spied  De  Lacy's  portmanteau,  and 
approaching  it  directly,  and  laying  hold  of  it,  he  said, 
"  This  is  the  traveller's  portmanteau,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Well,  and  what  if  it  is  ?"  said  Rory. 

"Oh,  nothing — nothing,"  said  Sweeny,  who  had 
turned  it  over  and  over  to  look  for  a  name  or  initials; 
but  there  were  none  :  "  no  harm  in  my  asking,  I 
hope  ?  " 

"  Nor  no  good,  either,"  said  Rory. 

"  Only,  by  this  portmanteau,  the  traveller  is  a 
gentleman,  I  perceive." 

"  Well,  he  's  not  the  worse  of  that,"  said  Rory. 

"  Any  thing  I  can  do  for  the  gentleman,  I  'II  be 
most  happy,"  said  Sweeny,  who  always  laid  a  gentle- 
man under  obligation  if  he  could. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  but  he  's  very  comfortable  here, 
I  can  tell  you,  and  sha'n't  want  for  any  thing,"  said 
the  widow. 

"  1  've  no  doubt  of  that,  Mrs.  O'More  ;  but  if  I 
could  see  him,  perhaps  I  might  be  able  to  give  some 
little  advice.  Is  he  in  that  room  ?  "  said  Sweeny, 
pointing  as  he  spoke. 


Rory  O'More  91 

"  He  's  asleep,  and  must  n't  be  disturbed,"  said 
Rory. 

Just  at  that  moment  De  Lacy's  raving  took  a  noisy 
turn,  and  he  became  audible  to  Sweeny. 

"  There,"  said  Sweeny,  "  he  's  awake,  —  now  you 
can  let  me  go  in  ; "  and  he  was  advancing  to  the  door, 
when  Rory  stepped  between,  and  said  the  patient 
should  n't  be  disturbed,  at  the  same  time  he  turned 
towards  his  mother,  and  made  a  grimace,  as  much  as 
to  sav,  "  Sweeny  must  not  be  admitted."  The 
widow  grinned,  and  blinked  her  eyes,  as  much  as  to 
say,  "  He  shall  not."  —  "  You  see,  Mr.  Sweeny," 
said  she,  "  the  poor  gintleman  's  ravin',  and  does  n't 
like  sthrangers." 

"  Raving  !  —  ho,  ho  !  —  fever  —  dangerous,  Mrs. 
O'More,  —  take  care,  take  care." 

*«•  I  've  taken  every  care,  sir." 

"  But  fever,  Mrs.  O'More;  — have  you  given  him 
feverescing  drinks  ?  " 

"  He  has  all  he  wants." 

"  You  should  write  to  his  friends,  and  tell  them  ; 
—  may  die,  you  know  ;  —  I  '11  write  to  them,  if  you 
like." 

"  And  charge  six-and-eightpence  for  it,"  said  Rory 
aside. 

*'  Do  you  know  his  name  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Rory  very  short ;  "  we  did  n't  ax  him 
any  impid'nt  questions." 

"  Rory,  my  man,  don't  be  unreasonable,  —  don't 
be  in  a  passion  ; —  maybe  a  person  of  consequence  — 
his  friends  in  a  state  of  suspense.  He  's  raving  :  now 
all  you  have  to  do  is  to  open  his  valise  and  examine 
his  papers,  and  find  out  who  he  is.  I  '11  do  it  for 
you,  if  you  like." 

Rory's  rage  now  burst  its  bounds.  The  prying 
impertinence  of  Sweeny  he  bore  so  long  as  it  merely 


92  Rory  0' More 

amounted  to  his  personal  annoyance  ;  but  when  he 
made  the  last  proposition,  Rory  opened  upon  him 
furiously. 

"  Why,  thin,  do  you  take  me  for  such  a  mane- 
sperited  dog,  that  while  a  sick  man  v/as  on  his  back, 
I  'd  turn  spy  and  thief,  and  brake  open  his  portmantle 
and  hunt  for  his  saycrets  ?  " 

«  My  dear  Rory !  " 

"  Don't  dear  me  !  — Dear^  indeed,  —  'faith  !  it 's 
chape  you  howld  me,  if  you  think  I  'd  do  sitch  a  dirty 
turn, —  to  bethray  the  man  undher  my  roof  j  —  you 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself!" 

"  But  it 's  a  common  practice  !  " 

"A  common  'turney's  practice  maybe,  —  or  a 
common   thiePs   practice." 

«  Hillo,  Rory  !  " 

"  Oh,  to  the  divil  I  pitch  you  and  your  hillo!  —  I 
say,  a  common  thief's  practice,  again,  —  to  break 
locks  or  cut  open  bags,  and  pimp  and  spy  ;  —  faugh 
on  the  man  would  do  the  like  !  Throth,  if  I  thought 
there  was  one  dhrop  o'  blood  in  my  body  would  con- 
sent to  it,  I  'd  open  my  veins  till  it  was  out.  Oh, 
murther,  murther,  —  to  hear  of  sitch  a  scheming 
turn  !  If  I  done  such  a  rogue's  thrick,  I  'd  howld 
myself  disgraced  to  the  end  of  my  days,  and  think 
myself  only  fit  company  for  Judas." 

Sweeny  was  dumb-foundered  before  the  torrent  of 
Ror}^'s  honest  indignation,  and  was  about  to  make 
some  shuffling  reply,  when  Mary  O'More  entered 
the  cottage,  she  having  left  it  a  moment  before,  and 
said,  "  Run,  run,  Mr.  Sweeny  !  there  's  your  horse 
has  got  his  head  out  of  the  bridle,  and  is  run  into  the 
field." 

Now  it  was  Mary  herself  who  had  loosened  the 
bridle  from  the  beast,  and  let  him  escape,  for  the 
purpose  of  getting  rid  of  their  troublesome  visitor. 


Rory  0' More  93 

Sweeny  cut  short  his  discourse,  and  darted  from  the 
house,  pursuing  his  horse  into  the  field,  where  he  ar- 
rived in  time  lo  see  him  rolling  over  in  great  glee, 
much  to  the  benefit  of  a  new  saddle. 

Sweeny  shouted,  "  murder  !  "  and  it  was  some 
time  before  the  horse  could  be  caught,  even  with 
the  assistance  of  Rory.  When  he  was  secured,  the 
saddle  was  discovered  to  have  been  split  by  the 
horse's  tumbles  ;  and  when  Sweeny  got  into  his  seat 
and  turned  homewards,  he  saw  Mary  O'More  show- 
ing her  white  teeth  in  a  most  undisguised  laugh  at 
the  result  of  her  trick,  which  Rory  rejoiced  in 
equally. 

After  De  Lacy  had  suff^ered  under  dangerous  fever 
for  some  time,  the  eruption  made  its  appearance,  and 
he  was  soon  out  of  danger.  He  had  no  other  aid  in 
his  illness  than  that  of  the  widow's  simple  remedies, 
which,  backed  by  a  good  constitution,  carried  him 
through,  and  now  quiet  and  patience  were  all  that  he 
required. 

As  soon  as  he  recovered  his  senses,  it  was  some 
time  before  he  could  perfectly  understand  how  he 
came  to  be  in  Rory  O'More's  cottage ;  but  a  few 
words  from  his  kind  host  gradually  gave  the  key  to 
memory,  and  he  was  enabled  to  recall  the  circum- 
stances that  preceded  his  illness.  After  this  he  was 
for  some  time  silent,  and  then  he  asked  what  was  the 
day  of  the  month.  On  being  told,  he  knit  his  brow, 
and  seemed  to  undergo  some  feelings  of  disappoint- 
ment, to  which  an  expression  of  great  anxiety  suc- 
ceeded. 

"  O'More,"  said  he  at  last,  "  sluit  the  door. 
Come  close  to  me ;  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question, 
and  I  charge  you,  as  you  hope  for  salvation,  to 
answer  me  truly.  I  know  I  have  been  out  of  my 
senses,  and  I  suppose  I  talked  a  great  deal  while  I 


94  Rory  O'More 

was  so.  Now  tell  me  honestly,  did  any  thing  remark- 
able strike  you  in  my  raving  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there  did,  sir,"  said  Rory,  smiling  at  De 
Lacy,  and  looking  straight  into  his  eyes  with  that 
honest  look  that  honesty  alone  can  give. 

There  was  a  soothing  influence  to  De  Lacy  in  the 
expression  of  that  smile  and  look,  and  a  peculiar  in- 
telligence in  them,  that  showed  him  Rory  knew  the 
drift  of  his  question,  by  having  fathomed  the  circum- 
stances of  his  situation. 

"  I  'm  sure  you  guess  what  I  am,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Shouldher  arms, —  whoo  !  "  said  Rory,  laughing. 

De  Lacy  smiled  faintly  at  Rory's  mode  of  illustrat- 
ing his  knowledge. 

"  You  are  right,"  said  De  Lacy,  "  and  you  know 
I  'm  not  a  soldier  of  King  George." 

Rory  sang  in  a  low  tone,  — 

"  Viva  la,  the  French  is  coming — ^ 
Viva  la,  our  friends  is  thrue  ; 
Viva  la,  the  French  is  coming  — 
What  will  the  poor  yeomen  do  ? " 

De  Lacy  nodded  assent,  and  smiled,  and,  after  a 
short  pause,  said,  "  You  're  a  sharp  fellow,  O'More." 

"  I  've  been  blunt  enough  with  you,  sir." 

"  Honest  as  the  sun,"  said  De  Lacy.  "  Now  tell 
me,  do  the  women  know  any  thing  about  this  ?  " 

"  Not  a  taste ;  they  suspect  you  no  more  nor  the 
child  unborn  :   only,  Mary  says " 

"  What  ?  "  said  De  Lacy,  rather  alarmed. 

"That  you 're  in  love,  sir, —  beggin'  your  pardon." 

"Oh!  that's  all.  Well,  she's  right  too.  Why, 
you  're  a  sharp  family  altogether." 

"  Divil  a  much  sharpness  in  that,"  says  Rory : 
"  sure  whin  there  's  the  laste  taste  o'  love  goin',  the 
wind  o'  the  word  is  enough  for  a  woman.     Oh  !  let 


Rory  0' More  95 


them  alone  for  findin'  out  the  soft  side  of  a  man's 
heart  !  — the  greatest  fool  o'  them  all  is  wise  enough 
in  such  matthers." 

"  O'More,"  said  De  Lacy,  after  another  pause, 
"you're  a  United  Irishman." 

Rory  smiled.  "  Now  it 's  your  turn  to  be  sharp," 
said  he. 

"You  are  a  United  man,  then  ?  "  said  De  Lacy. 

"To  the  core  of  my  heart,"  replied  Rory  with 
energy. 

"  Then  my  mind  's  at  ease,"  said  De  Lacy ;  and 
he  held  out  his  hand  to  O'More,  who  gave  his  in  re- 
turn, and  De  Lacy  shook  it  warmly. 

"  God  be  praised,  sir  !  "  said  Rory  :  "  but  how  does 
that  set  your  mind  at  aise  ?  " 

"  Because  you  can  fulfil  a  mission  for  me,  Rory, 
that  otherwise  must  have  failed  ;  —  that  is,  if  you  '11 
undertake  it." 

"  Undhertake  it !  —  I  'd  go  to  the  four  corners  of 
the  earth  in  a  good  cause." 

"  You  're  a  brave  fellow  !  "  said  De  Lacy. 

"  But  will  you  tell  me,  sir,"  said  Rory,  "  is  the 
French  comin'  in  airnest  to  help  us  ?  " 

"  No  doubt  of  it,  Rory,  —  and  you  shall  be  the  joy- 
ful messenger  of  their  coming,  by  doing  the  errand  I 
wish  for." 

"  Oh  !  but  that  '11  be  the  proud  day  for  me,  your 
honour ! " 

"  Well,  then,  there  's  no  time  to  lose.  I  asked  you 
the  day  of  the  month  a  few  minutes  ago,  and  my  heart 
sank  within  me  when  you  told  me  the  date;  to-mor- 
row  I    am  bound  by  promise   to   be    in  the  town  of 

,  where  an  agent   from   France   is   waiting,  who 

bears  intelligence  to  Ireland.  It  is  impossible  for 
me  to  go ;  —  now  will  you  undertake  the  duty, 
Rory  ?  " 


96  Rory  O'More 

''With  all  the  veins  o'  my  heart!"  said  Rory, 
"  and  be  proud  into  the  bargain." 

"  Go,  then,"  said  De  Lacy,  "  to  the  town  of , 

and  there  on  the  quay  there  's  a  public-house." 

"'Faith,  there  is,  —  and  more,"  said  Rory. 

"  The  public-house  I  mean  bears  a  very  odd  sign." 

"  I  '11  be  bound  I  know  it,"  said  Rory,  whose 
national  impatience  would  not  wait  for  De  Lacy's 
directions ;  "  I  'II  engage  it 's  the  Cow  and  the 
Wheelbarrow." 

"  No,"  said  De  Lacy,  who  could  not  help  smiling 
at  the  oddness  of  the  combination  in  Rory's  antici- 
pated sign,  "  it  is  not ;  but  one  quite  as  queer  :  the 
Cat  and  Bagpipes." 

"  Oh,  that  's  a  common  sign,"  said  Rory. 

"  There  are  a  great  many  very  queer  things  com- 
mon in  Leland,"  said  De  Lacy,  who  even  in  his 
present  weakened  state  could  not  resist  his  habitual 
love  of  remark.  "  You  are  well  acquainted,  I  see, 
with  the  town,"  he  continued. 

"  Indeed,  and  I  'm  not,"  said  Rory  j  "  I  never  was 
there  but  wanst,  and  that  happened  to  be  on  the  quay, 
by  the  same  token,  where  I  remarked  the  Cow  and 
the  Wheelbarrow,  for  it 's  a  sign  I  never  seen  afore, 
and  is  mighty  noticeable." 

"  But  that  is  77ot  the  sign  of  the  house  you  are  to 
go  to,  remember." 

"Oh,  by  no  manes,  sir;  the  Cat  and  Bagpipes  is 
my  mark." 

"  Yes  !  and  there  about  the  hour  of  six  in  the  even- 
ing you  will  see  a  party  of  three  men." 

"■  But  if  there  's  two  parties  of  three  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"  You  can  distinguish  our  friends  by  contriving,  in 
the  most  natural  way  you  can,  —  I  mean,  so  as  not  to 
excite  observation  from  any  one  but  those  who  will 
understand  and  answer  your  signal,  —  to  say,    One^ 


Rory  O'More  97 

two^  three^  in  their  hearing;  and  if  those  whom  I  ex- 
pect you  to  meet  should  be  there,  you  will  be  spoken 
to  by  them,  and  then  you  must  introduce  into  what- 
ever you  say  to  them  these  words,  They  were  very  fine 
ducks.  They  will  then  leave  the  public-house,  ahd 
you  may  trust  yourself  to  follow  wherever  they  lead." 

"  Now,  how  am  I  to  make  sure  that  they  are 
right  ?  "    said  Rory. 

"You  have  my  word  for  their  being  trusty,"  said 
De  Lacy. 

"  Oh,  sir,  sure  it 's  not  your  word  I  'd  be  doubting  ; 
but  I  mane,  how  am  I  to  make  sure  that  it  is  the 
right  men  /  spake  to  ?  " 

"  Their  noticing  your  remark  will  be  sufficient ; 
but,  as  a  further  assurance,  they  can  return  you  the 
United  man's  signal  and  grip.  Give  me  your  hand," 
said  De  Lacy,  and  he  clasped  the  extended  palm  of 
Rory. 

"That's  the  grip,"  said  Rory,  "sure  enough. 
Why,  thin,  how  did  you  come  by  that,  sir  ?  "  said 
Rory  ;  "  tare  alive  !  are  the  French  United  Irishmen  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly,"  said  De  Lacy,  smiling ;  "  but  the 
chosen  know  your  signs.  Now  I  've  told  you  all 
that 's  requisite  for  your  mission  :  when  you  give  these 
signs,  they  whom  you  '11  meet  will  tell  you  what  is 
requisite  for  me  to  know,  and  you  can  bring  me  back 
the  intelligence." 

"  I  've  no  time  to  lose,"  said  Rory  -,  "  I  must  be  off 
to-morrow  by  the  dawn." 

"  Will  your  mother  or  sister  suspect  any  thing  from 
your  absence  ?  " 

"  Why,  sir,  the  thruth  is,  neither  mother  nor  sisther 
ever  questioned  me  about  my  incomin's  or  outgoin's ; 
though  they  have,  av  course,  observed  I  was  not 
always  reg'lar,  and  women  is  sharp  enough  in  sitch 
matthers  ;  but  they  suspect  something  is  going  on  in 

VOL.   I.— 7 


98  Rory  O^More 

the  counthry ;  how  could  they  help  it  ?  but  they  know 
it  is  in  a  good  cause,  and  that  they  have  no  business 
to  meddle  with  it,  and  so  the  fewer  questions  they  ask, 
they  think  it  is  the  betther.  They  know  men  must 
do  what  becomes  men ;  and  though  the  mother  and 
sisther  loves  me  as  well  as  ever  a  son  or  a  brother 
was  loved  in  this  wide  world,  they  would  rather  see 
me  do  what  a  man  ought  to  do,  and  die,  than  skulk 
and  live  undher  disgrace." 

De  Lacy  was  touched  by  this  simple  expression  of 
the  chivalrous  feeling  which  existed  throughout  this 
humble  family,  and,  after  Rory  assuring  him  he  would 
do  his  mission,  and  telling  him  to  "  keep  never  mind- 
ing "  to  the  mother,  he  took  his  instructions  once 
more,  and  recommended  De  Lacy  to  go  to  sleep. 

It  was  evening  ;  so  Ror)'  bade  his  guest  good-night. 
*'  You  won't  see  me  again  till  afther  I  come  back ; 
make  yourself  aisy,  sir.  The  thing  will  be  done, 
depend  upon  that :  above  all,  say  nothing  to  the 
mother  ;  she  '11  ask  me  no  questions,  and  I  '11  tell  her 
no  lies."  With  this  wise  saying,  Rory  left  De  Lacy, 
who  soon  slept,  from  the  fatigue  which  the  excite- 
ment he  had  just  gone  through  produced. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

"BRITANNIA    RULES    THE    WAVES " 

IT  was  in  the  grey  of  a  fine  autumnal  morning, 
about  a  fortnight  previously  to  the  scene  and 
time  just  recorded,  that  a  swift  lugger  was  seen  dash- 
ing the  spray  from  her  beautiful  bows  as  she  sailed 
through  a  fleet  of  stately  men-of-war  that  lay  in  the 
Texel.  The  lugger  made  for  the  shore,  and  when 
close  in,  dropped  her  anchor ;  and  her  small  boat 
being  lowered  from  her  stern,  three  men  entered  it, 
and  it  was  pulled  swiftly  to  the  beach.  To  one  who 
knew  not  that  a  craft  like  the  lugger  required  a  nu- 
merous crew,  it  might  have  been  supposed,  when  those 
three  men  left  her  side,  that  every  living  thing  had 
departed  from  her ;  for  the  stillness  which  prevailed 
within  her  was  profound.  There  she  lay  on  the  placid 
water,  quiet  as  the  element  she  floated  on,  without  a 
sign  or  a  sound  to  indicate  that  she  was  the  den  of 
many  a  daring  ruffian. 

About  noon,  the  boat  reapproached  the  lugger,  with 
two  additional  persons,  and  after  hailing  her,  and  re- 
maining a  few  minutes  under  her  quarter,  again  pushed 
off,  and  made  for  the  centre  of  the  fleet,  where  the 
flag  of  Admiral  De  Winter  floated  from  the  mast  of 
the  Vryheid,  — a  splendid  seventy-four. 

Three  persons  from  the  boat  went  up  the  side  of 
the  admiral's  ship,  two  of  whom  were  admitted  to  the 
admiral's  cabin;  the  third,  the  commander  of  the  lug- 
ger, waited  on  the  deck  until  those  he  brought  from 


loo  Rory  O'More 

the  shore  should  command  his  presence  below.  And 
these  two  were  persons  whose  names  are  well  known  in 
the  eventful  history  of  the  period,  and  on  their  heads 
was  the  price  of  blood,  —  Theobald  Wolfe  Tone,  and 
Lewines  :  the  former,  an  exile  for  some  time  from 
his  country  ;  and  the  other,  more  recently  an  envoy 
from  the  executive  of  the  disaffected  party  in  Ireland. 
Tone  had  obtained  rank  in  the  French  army,  and  was 
at  this  moment  on  the  etat  major  of  the  armament 
destined  for  the  invasion  of  the  kingdom  of  Great 
Britain  ;  though  at  what  point  that  invasion  might 
take  place  was  not  as  yet  decided  ;  —  it  being  matter 
of  dispute  whether  the  expedition  should  land  on  the 
English  coast,  or  in  Ireland  ;  whether  it  should  strike 
at  the  vitals  of  Great  Britain,  or  assail  her  from  the 
extremities. 

General  Hoche,  who  was  only  second  in  fame  to 
Bonaparte,  was  anxious  to  do  something  brilliant,  while 
the  fame  of  his  rival's  Italian  campaigns  made  Europe 
ring  with  wonder;  and  as  the  prevalence  of  contrary 
winds  had  prevented  the  expedition  sailing  for  some 
weeks  for  Ireland,  he  made  the  daring  proposal  of 
landing  in  Lincolnshire,  and  marching  direct  on  Lon- 
don. A  year  before,  his  expedition,  v/hich  sailed  from 
Brest  for  Ireland,  was  utterly  defeated  by  contrary 
winds ;  and  as  the  same  element  seemed,  as  usual,  to 
interpose  a  providential  barrier  between  England  and 
her  foes,  he,  with  that  impatient  thought  so  char- 
acteristic of  genius,  suggested  the  idea  that  as  the 
wind  did  not  blow  in  favour  of  the  course  they  wanted 
to  steer,  they  should  make  it  subservient  to  another 
purpose,  descend  on  the  most  open  quarter,  and  trust 
to  the  fortune  of  war  ;  for  he  burned  that  some  great 
achievement  of  his  should  prevent  his  name  being 
overshadowed  by  the  freshly-springing  laurels  of 
Napoleon  Bonaparte. 


Rory  O'More  itSii 

Against  this  preposterous  notion  of  carrying  Eng- 
land by  a  coup  de  main^  Tone  had  always  argued  stren- 
uously ;  but  he  found  such  a  singular  ignorance  of 
the  state  of  England,  as  well  as  Ireland,  to  exist 
amongst  the  French,  that  it  was  with  great  difficulty 
he  could  make  General  Hoche  listen  to  a  word  against 
his  newly-conceived  expedition.  It  was,  therefore, 
with  great  pleasure  he  had  the  letter  of  De  Lacy, 
bearing  so  strongly  on  this  point,  put  into  his  hands 
that  morning  by  the  commander  of  the  lugger,  and  he 
lost  no  time  in  laying  it  before  the  authorities  in  com- 
mand of  the  expedition,  to  dissuade  them  from  a 
course  that  he  knew  could  be  no  other  than  ruinous. 

When  he  and  Lewines  entered  the  cabin  of  the 
admiral.  General  Hoche  and  Daendells  were  looking 
over  a  map  of  England  ;  and  Admiral  De  Winter, 
with  his  second  in  command.  Admiral  Storey,  were 
examining  charts  of  the  British  Channel  and  the 
North  Sea. 

"  You  see  I  've  not  given  it  up  yet,"  said  Hoche 
vivaciously  to  Tone. 

"  I  perceive  you  have  not,  general,"  said  the  latter ; 
"  but  I  think  this  will  decide  you :  "  and  he  presented 
to  him  the  letter  of  De  Lacy. 

Hoche  pounced  upon  it,  and  began  to  devour  its 
contents.  He  passed  rapidly  on,  till,  stopping  sud- 
denly, he  asked,  "  Who  is  this  from  ?  " 

Tone  informed  him  it  was  from  an  agent  of  Gen- 
eral Clarke,  who  had  been  commissioned  to  inquire 
into  the  truth  of  all  the  statements  Tone  had  made 
to  the  Directory. 

"  I  remember,"  said  Hoche ;  and  he  resumed  his 
reading. 

A  conversation  ensued  in  the  mean  time  between 
the  admirals  and  the  Irish  emissaries,  until  it  was 
interrupted  by  Hoche  exclaiming  impatiently,  "  Slue 


diable !  What  have  carved  ceilings  and  handsome 
apartments  to  do  with  the  matter  ?  His  oak  ceiling 
is  only  good  for  burning  !  What  nonsense  !  "  And 
he  threw  down  the  letter  contemptuously. 

"  Pray,  go  on,  general,"  said  Tone.  "  There  is  a 
good  deal  of  detail,  certainly,  in  the  communication  ; 
but  if  the  writer  has  been  careful  and  elaborate  in  his 
observations,  it  is  only  fair  to  read  them  all  to  arrive 
at  a  just  estimate  of  his  judgment." 

Hoche  continued  the  reading  of  the  letter,  and  as 
he  proceeded,  his  face  became  more  thoughtful,  he 
read  with  deeper  attention  ;  and  when  he  had  finished 
the  perusal,  he  laid  down  the  letter  in  silence,  as  if  he 
had  not  the  heart  to  say,  "  I  must  give  up  my  expe- 
dition," although  he  felt  it  was  hopeless. 

"You  see,  general,"  said  Tone,  "the  expedition  to 
Ireland  is  the  only  thing," 

"  Whenever  it  can  sail  there,"  said  Hoche. 

"  That  may  be  a  month,"  said  Daendells. 

"  Or  to-morrow,"  said  Tone. 

"This  south-westerly  wind  is  blowing  as  if  it  had 
set  in  for  it,"  said  the  admiral,  shaking  his  head,  as 
if  he  doubted  Tone's  hopeful  anticipation. 

"  The  troops  have  been  now  embarked  nearly  a 
month,"  said  General  Daendells,  "and  though  amply 
provisioned  for  the  probable  necessities  of  the  expe- 
dition, it  is  impossible  their  stores  can  last  much 
longer ;  and  whenever  they  become  exhausted,  I 
doubt  how  far  our  government  would  deem  it  pru- 
dent to  advance  further  supplies." 

"  General  Daendells,"  said  Hoche,  "  it  has  ap- 
peared to  me,  lately,  that  the  Batavian  republic  seems 
to  have  a  jealousy  that  her  army  should  be  led  by  a 
general  of  France  in  an  affair  that  promises  so  much 
glory,  and  I  should  not  wonder  that  much  further 
delay  in  the  sailing  of  the  expedition  might  prevent 


Rory  O'More  103 

this  noble  undertaking  altogether.  Now,  I  would 
not  for  the  glory  of  Caesar  that  my  personal  fame 
should  interfere  with  the  great  cause  of  universal 
freedom;  and  if  you  think  that  your  legislative  as- 
sembly would  be  more  willing  to  pursue  this  enter- 
prise if  it  were  under  the  command  of  one  of  its 
own  generals,  I  will  withdraw  my  pretensions  to  the 
command,  and  give  all  the  chance  of  the  glory  to 
you." 

"  You  are  a  noble  fellow,"  said  Daendells,  extend- 
ing his  hand  to  Hoche ;  "  there  may  be  some  truth 
in  what  you  say,  and  I  shall  never  forget  this  act  of 
generosity  on  your  part,  for  none  can  deny  that  you, 
from  your  efforts  made,  and  disappointments  endured, 
in  this  cause,  deserve  to  reap  all  the  laurels  that  may 
be  mine  in  the  result.  This  is  the  greatest  of  your 
conquests, —  you  have  triumphed  over  your  ambition ! " 

Tone  was  affected  almost  to  tears  —  he  could 
scarcely  speak ;  but,  struggling  with  his  emotion,  he 
said,  "  General,  my  country  will  never  forget  this 
noble  conduct  on  your  part.  We  knew  how  brave 
you  are,  but  we  did  not  know  how  generous  !  " 

"  Who  brought  this  letter  ?  "  said  Hoche,  wishing 
to  turn  the  conversation. 

"  De  Welskein,  the  smuggler,"  said  Tone  ;  "  and 
he  wishes  to  know  whether  he  may  promise  speedy 
aid  to  the  sufferers  in  Ireland,  for  they  are  beginning 
to  be  impatient  of  it." 

"  The  moment  the  wind  permits,  they  shall  have 
succour,"  said  Daendells.  "  Is  it  not  so,  admiral  ?  " 
said  he  to  De  Winter, 

"  Certainly,"  answered  the  admiral.  "  Is  the 
smuggler  on  board  ?  "   added   he,  addressing  Tone. 

"  Yes,  admiral." 

"  Then  I  wish  to  speak  to  him ;  "  and  the  smug- 
gler was  ordered  into  the  admiral's  presence. 


I04  Rory  O'More 

De  Welskein  was  a  Frenchman,  though  bearing  a 
Dutch  name :  he  was  one  of  the  many  desperate 
characters  that  the  French  revolution  produced.  A 
fellow  of  loose  habits  and  desperate  fortunes,  he  took 
to  smuggling,  as  the  readiest  mode  of  indulging  the 
one  and  repairing  the  other :  he  had  also  a  love  of 
finesse^  and  a  spirit  of  intrigue,  that  this  sort  of  life 
enabled  him  to  indulge  in ;  and  he  was  the  most 
active  of  the  agents  in  carrying  on  intelligence  be- 
tween France  and  Ireland  at  that  period  ;  —  not  that 
he  cared  for  the  Irish,  not  that  he  had  a  moral  sensi- 
bility within  him  to  desire  the  liberation  of  the  veriest 
slave,  —  but  that  it  gave  him  an  opportunity  to  smug- 
gle and  intrigue.  Many  a  turbulent  spirit  in  Ireland 
who  longed  for  an  outbreak  of  rebellion,  and  who 
looked  to  France  for  aid,  courted  Monsieur  De 
Welskein  as  emissary  from  the  land  of  promise,  and 
he  made  them,  through  this  hold  upon  them,  more 
ready  instruments   in   his   smuggling  speculations. 

Deficient  though  De  Welskein  was  in  any  moral 
appreciation  of  the  beauty  of  freedom,  he  babbled  in 
the  jargon  of  his  time  about  it,  and  shouted  "  Vive  la 
liberte !  "  because  his  Uherte  meant  the  absence  of  all 
restraint,  human  or  divine ;  and  he  had  a  sort  of  con- 
fused notion  that  a  revolution  was  glorious,  and  that 
it  was  the  business  of  the  grande  nation  to  revolu- 
tionise the  world  in  general,  but  Ireland  in  particular, 
because  it  gave  him  a  good  opportunity  for  smuggling 
brandy  and  tobacco. 

There  was  a  species  of  melodramatic  fancy  about 
the  fellow  too  —  a  propensity  for  romance  and  ad- 
venture, that  his  connection  with  Ireland  gratified. 
Besides,  it  indulged  his  vanity,  as,  in  his  present 
situation,  Monsieur  Eugene  St.  Foix  De  Welskein 
was  no  small  personage  in  his  own  opinion  :  he 
rhodomontaded    about   the  fate    of  empires   and    the 


Rory  O'More  lo- 


destinies  of  nations^  as  if  he  were  a  sucking  Jupiter, 
or  one  of  the  French   Directory. 

His  names  too  were  a  source  of  rejoicing  to  him  : 
Eugene  St.  Foix.  The  former  he  inheritv'd  from  his 
father ;  the  latter  was  the  maiden  name  of  his  mother, 
who  was  a  washerwoman.  De  Welskein  he  did  not 
much  like ;  so  that  his  companions,  when  they  wished 
to  vex  him,  called  him  by  his  surname,  while  in 
moments  of  friendship  they  addressed  him  as  Eugene ; 
but  when  they  courted  him,  the  heroic  title  of  St. 
Foix  was  the  one  they  preferred.  To  be  sure,  they 
sometimes  called  him,  behind  his  back  Sans  Foi ;  but 
in  his  presence  he  was  fond  of  having  his  courage 
celebrated  under  the  name  of  Sans  Peur  :  so  that  St. 
Foix  sans  peur  was  a  flattering  address  sometimes  made 
to  him  :  —  but  though  St.  Foix  was  certainly  sans  peur ^ 
he  was  not  sans  reproche. 

When  De  Welskein  entered  the  cabin,  Admiral  De 
Winter  asked  him,  had  he  seen  the  English  fleet  ? 

He  answered,  that  he  had  passed  them  in  the  night. 

''  Then  you  could  not  count  the  number  of  their 
ships  ?  "  said  the  admiral. 

"  I  was  sufficiently  near  in  the  morning  to  see 
them,"  said  the  smuggler,  "  and  I  think  they  are 
eighteen  sail." 

"  Eighteen  !  —  are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  I  think,  eighteen  ;   I  'm  almost  sure." 

*'  Frigates,  or  line-of-battle  ?  " 

"  Most  line-of-battle." 

"  I  see  he  has  observed  them,"  said  the  admiral, 
*'  for  I  could  perceive,  even  from  the  harbour,  with  a 
glass,  that  they  were  all  line-of-battle  :  —  but  I  could 
only  make  out  fifteen ;  they  must  have  been  rein- 
forced. Some  of  their  ships  were  in  mutiny  at  the 
Nore  ;  perhaps  the  mutiny  has  been  suppressed,  and 
that  accounts  for  the  increase  of  numbers." 


io6  Rory  O'More 

"  That 's  unlucky,"  said  Tone. 

"  How  unlucky,  sir  ? "  said  Storey. 

"  As  long  as  our  fleet  had  a  superiority,  there  was  a 
chance  we  could  force  our  passage  ;  but " 

"  Sir,"  said  Storey,  "you  mistake  very  much  if  you 
think  we  would  shrink  from  contending  with  an  equal, 
or  even  superior  number  of  the  enemy.  I  wish  for 
nothing  better  than  to  be  broadside  to  broadside  with 
them." 

This  was  the  bravado  of  the  man  who,  in  about  a 
month  after,  deserted  De  Winter  in  his  engagement 
with  that  identical  fleet,  and  literally  ran  away  with 
his  division  of  the  Dutch  force  from  the  enemy  he 
vaunted  himself  so  eager  to  engage.  —  So  much  for 
braggarts  ! 

"  Pardon  me,  admiral,"  said  Tone  ;  ^'  I  hope  neither 
you  nor  Admiral  De  Winter  "  —  and  he  bowed  defer- 
entially to  that  gallant  oflicer,  as  if  it  were  to  him 
rather  than  to  Storey  he  apologised  —  "I  hope  you 
do  not  suppose  me  so  unworthy  as  to  undervalue  the 
bravery  of  the  Dutch  navy,  at  the  same  time  that  I 
consider  it  a  matter  of  importance  we  should  reach 
Ireland  without  an  engagement,  as  by  that  means  our 
force  will  be  undiminished ;  and  I  wish  that  the  army 
landed  should  be  as  large  as  possible,  for  the  affair  will 
be  the  sooner  decided,  and  thus  an  effusion  of  blood 
will  be  spared,  —  and  I  wish  from  my  heart  that  in  my 
poor  country  as  little  blood  as  possible  may  be  shed." 

*'  Bah  !  "  said  Hoche  ;  '''•you  can't  make  omelettes 
without  breaking  of  eggs.'' 

"  Adjutant-general,"  said  De  Winter  to  Tone,  "  I 
do  not  misapprehend  you  :  there  is  no  denying  that 
the  English  are  a  brave  enemy,  and  Admiral  Duncan 
is  a  gallant  and  able  officer.  I  shall  not  seek  an 
encounter  with  him  until  I  land  your  expedition,  — 
but  I  shall  certainly  not  shun  it." 


Rory  O'More  107 

Thus  spoke  the  man  of  true  courage,  who  fought 
his  ships  gallantly  in  the  subsequent  action,  even  after 
the  defection  of  the  braggart  who  deserted  him. 

Tone  tapped  General  Hoche  on  the  shoulder,  and 
led  him  apart  for  a  few  words  in  private,  the  door 
being  open  that  led  to  the  stern  gallery,  they  walked 
forth,  and  Tone  began  an  energetic  address,  request- 
ing the  general  to  dissuade  the  admiral  as  much  as 
possible  from  an  engagement  with  the  English  fleet. 
"  Let  the  troops  be  landed  in  Ireland,"  said  he  :  "  on 
the  land  you  are  invincible,  as  the  English  are  on  the 
seas.  Fate  seems  to  have  given  to  them  the  dominion 
of  the  ocean.  Mark  me  —  my  words  are  prophetic 
—  so  sure  as  this  fleet  shall  engage  the  English,  so 
surely   shall  it  be  beaten  !  " 

"  De  Winter  is  an  able  officer,"  said  Hoche. 

"  He  is,"  said  Tone,  "  and  a  brave  man,  I  am  cer- 
tain, from  his  moderate  manner;  while  I  doubt  very 
much  the  courage  of  that  flourishing  gentleman.  But 
have  we  not  the  example  of  repeated  engagements  to 
show  us  that  Great  Britain  is  an  overmatch  for  every 
nation  on  the  seas  ?  and  it  makes  my  blood  boil  to 
think  that  while  her  fleets  are  freely  manned  by  Irish- 
men, the  land  that  gives  them  birth  groans  beneath 
her  oppression.  Ireland  helps  to  gather  laurels  for 
Britain's  brows,  but  not  a  leaf  of  the  chaplet  is  given 
to  her;  she  shares  in  winning  the  victories  that  enrich 
and  aggrandise  the  Queen  of  the  Ocean,  but  is  allowed 
no  portion  of  the  fame  or  the  prosperity." 

"  Be  not  thus  agitated,"  said  Hoche  soothingly, 
touched  by  the  fierce  enthusiasm  with  which  Tone 
uttered  the  latter  part  of  his  address  :  "  when  once 
this  armament  lands  in  Ireland,  there  is  an  end  of 
Great   Britain's  domination." 

"  Ay,  when  it  lands,"  said  Tone,  with  a  voice  in 
which  impatience  and    hopelessness    were    strangely 


io8  Rory  O'More 

blended.  "  Oh  !  "  said  he,  stretching  out  his  hands 
to  the  expanse  of  sea  and  sky  before  him  —  "  Oh  ! 
ye  elements — ye  mysterious  agents  of  Heaven  !  why 
do  ye  interpose  your  potent  shield  of  air  and  foam 
between  England  and  her  foes  ?  You  blasted  the 
Armada  of  Spain  ;  I  saw  you  scatter  the  ships  of 
France  at  Bantry ;  and  now  this  gallant  fleet,  with 
fifteen  thousand  chosen  men,  who  burn  for  the 
liberation  of  my  country,  is  chained  here  by  an 
adverse  wind  for  a  whole  month  !  Ireland,  my 
country,  I   fear  you  are  doomed  !  " 

His  hands  dropped  to  his  side,  his  head  sank  on  his 
chest,  and  he  stood  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground. 

"Rally,  man — rally!  "  said  Hoche,  slapping  him 
on  the  shoulder :  "  why,  adjutant-general,  I  have 
never  seen  you  thus  before  !  " 

"  Whenever  I  think  of  the  fate  of  that  unhappy 
country,  it  breaks  my  heart  !  But  I  've  done  :  — 
only,  for  God's  sake.  General  Hoche,  dissuade  them 
from  a  sea-fight ;  we  are  ruined  if  they  attempt  it." 

Hoche  and  Tone  now  re-entered  the  cabin.  They 
found  De  Winter  and  Daendells  giving  instructions 
to  the  smuggler.  De  Winter  desired  him  to  put 
himself  in  the  way  of  the  English  fleet,  and  give 
them  some  false  information.  It  was  planned  that 
De  Welskein  should  pass  the  English  squadron  in  the 
night,  and  towards  morning  sail  back  again,  as  if  he 
came  up  Channel,  and  tell  the  English  admiral  that 
he  saw  a  French  fleet  at  the  Channel's  mouth  ;  this 
might  give  him  an  idea  that  the  Brest  fleet  had  got 
out  to  sea,  which  would  serve  to  divide  his  attention, 
and  possibly  draw  him  farther  off  the  coast,  and  leave 
a  passage  from  the  Texel  more  open,  in  case  the  wind 
should  change  so  as  to  favour  such  a  movement. 

General  Daendells  told  him  to  assure  the  Irish  of 
speedy  succour,  for  that  fifteen  thousand  men   were 


Rory  O'More  109 

embarked  for  that  service,  and  only  waited  a  fair 
wind  to  sail.  A  few  lines  to  De  Lacy,  from  Hoche, 
was  all  the  writing  the  smuggler  bore,  and  he  left  the 
ship  on   his  mission. 

Such  were  the  plans  that  were  proposed  ;  such 
were  the  promises  made.     What  was  the  result  ? 

The  wind  continued  foul  a  fortnight  longer  ;  in  all, 
six  weeks.  The  provisions  for  so  large  a  number  of 
troops,  as  well  as  seamen,  became  exhausted ;  the 
troops  were  relanded ;  the  expedition  to  Ireland  was 
given  up,  —  and  England  again  was  spared  the  danger 
of  a  formidable  invasion  into  a  disaffected  portion  of 
her  kingdom. 

The  night  the  troops  were  disembarked.  Tone 
went  to  his  tent  with  a  heavy  heart :  the  next  morn- 
ing he  saw  the  pennants  of  the  fleet  turned  towards 
England. 

The  breeze  which  the  day  before  would  have  made 
his  blood  dance,  had  he  felt  it  on  the  deck  of  the 
Vryheid,  now  only  made  his  heart  sick ;  he  stood 
on  the  beach  like  one  possessed.  After  remaining 
motionless  for  some  minutes,  he  stamped  fiercely, 
clenched  his  teeth,  struck  his  forehead  with  his  hand, 
and  walked  rapidly  away ;  but  ere  he  descended  a 
slight  declivity  that  shut  out  the  bay,  he  turned  round 
and  cast  a  look  of  despair  towards  his  country. 

Thus  ended  the  second  expedition  undertaken  for 
the  invasion  of  Ireland :  and  the  gallant  Hoche, 
within  a  month  after,  was  no  more — cut  off  in  his 
prime  of  manhood  and  career  of  glory  by  the  hand  of 
the  assassin  !  ^ 

And  what  was  the  fate  of  the  fleet  ? 

Admiral  De  Winter,  the  October  following,  sailed 
from    the  Texel,  met    the    English   squadron    under 

1  Hoche' s  life  was  attempted  more  than  once.  His  death 
was  attributed  to  slow  poison. 


no  Rory  O'More 

Admiral  Duncan,  and  fought  like  a  hero;  —  but 
Storey  deserted  him.  De  Winter,  nevertheless,  main- 
tained a  fierce  engagement  against  superior  numbers : 
but  the  prophecy  of  Tone  was  fulfilled  j  after  a  well- 
contested  fight,  the  Dutch  struck  their  colours,  and 
the  flag  of  England  again  floated  triumphantly  over 
the  seas. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE    PRETTY    GIRL    MILKING    HER    COW 

"  I  saw  a  young  damsel,  —  't  was  Noreen  j  — 
Her  ringlets  did  carelessly  flow. 
Oh  !  how  I  adore  you,  ma  <VQurneen, 
Ma  colleen  dhas  crutheen  na  mbho.^'' 

RORY  O'MORE  left  his  cottage  at  an  early 
hour  the  morning  after  his  conversation  with 
De  Lacy.  For  a  io-wf  miles  he  followed  the  by-road 
that  led  from  his  house,  and  then  struck  into  a  path 
through  some  fields,  for  the  purpose  of  making  the 
high-road  which  was  the  direct  way  to  the  place  of 
his  destination. 

As  he  was  walking  briskly  on,  looking  neither  to 
the  right  nor  the  left,  but  quite  absorbed  in  the  con- 
templation of  the  business  he  had  undertaken,  his 
attention  was  suddenly  arrested  by  hearing  one  of 
those  quaint  and  sportive  melodies  of  his  country, 
sung  by  a  sweet  voice.  Rory  paused  ;  —  he  recog- 
nised the  tones  that  had  so  often  made  his  heart  thrill 
with  pleasure,  —  and  running  up  the  gentle  hill  before 
him,  he  beheld,  as  he  topped  the  summit  on  the  other 
side  of  the  hillock,  seated  under  the  shade  of  a  haw- 
thorn hedge,  a  beautiful  peasant  girl,  whose  song  pro- 
ceeded merrily,  while  she  was  milking  her  cows. 

Kathleen  Regan  was  sitting  with  her  back  towards 
the  point  whence  Rory  approached ;  so  that  he  was 
enabled,  unperceived  by  her,  to  gaze  with  pleasure  on 
her  sweet  figure,  and  listen  to  her  sportive  song. 


112  Rory  O'More 

There  's  a  lad  that  I  know  ;  and  I  know  that  he 

Speaks  softly  to  me. 

The  cushla-ma-chree  I 
He  's  the  pride  of  my  heart,  and  he  loves  me  well  ; 
But  who  the  lad  is,  I  'm  not  going  to  tell. 

He  's  as  straight  as  a  rush,  and  as  bright  as  the  stream 

That  around  it  doth  gleam,  — 

Oh  !   of  him  how  I  dream  ! 
I  'm  as  high  as  his  shoulder  —  the  way  that  I  know 
Is,  he  caught  me  one  day,  just  my  measure  to  show. 

He  whisper' d  a  question  one  day  in  my  ear  : 

When  he  breathed  It,  oh  dear  ! 

How  I  trembled  with  fear  ! 
What  the  question  he  ask'd  was,  I  need  not  confess  : 
But  the  answer  I  gave  to  the  question  was,  "  Yes.*" 

His  eyes  they  are  bright,  and  they  looked  so  kind 

when  I  was  inclined 

To  speak  my  mind  ! 
And  his  breath  is  so  sweet  — oh,  the  rose's  is  less  ! 
And  how  I  found  it  out,  —  why  I  leave  you  to  guess. 

The  scene  was  one  to  excite  the  imagination  and 
charm  the  senses  of  one  less  keen  to  such  pleasures 
than  Rory.  He  could  catch  the  soft  scent  of  the 
morning  breath  of  the  cows,  vying  in  fragrance  with 
the  woodbine  that  was  peeping  through  the  hedge  ;  at 
the  same  time  that  he  could  hear  the  sweet  voice  of 
the  girl  he  loved,  and  see  her  bright  ringlets  curl 
down  her  graceful  neck  and  beautifully-rounded 
shoulders. 

He  v/atched  her  for  some  moments  in  silent  admi- 
ration, and  then  stealing  softly  behind  her  and  suddenly 
uttering  "  Wow !  "  the  girl  started,  and  in  her 
moment  of  surprise  Rory  caught  her  in  his  arms  and 
snatched  a  kiss.  A  hearty  box  on  his  ear  followed 
the  salute,  with  the  exclamation  of, — 

"  You  divil !  how  dar  you  !  " 


Rory  O'More  113 

"  I  lave  you  to  guess"  said  Rory,  laughing. 

''  You  're  mighty  impident,  so  you  are,  Rory." 

"  Arrah  !  how  could  I  help  it,  Kathleen  darlin'  ?  " 
said  Rory  with  a  look  of  admiration  that  would  have 
softened  the  anger  of  even  a  more  cruel  beauty  than 
Kathleen  ;  —  a  look  that  appealed  more  strongly  to 
the  self-love  of  the  woman  than  the  liberty  taken  had 
startled  her  modesty. 

"  You  're  very  impident,  so  you  are,"  said  Kath- 
leen, settling  her  hair,  that  had  been  tossed  into 
a  most  becoming  confusion  over  her  face  in  the 
struggle. 

"  You  often  towld  me  that  before,"  said  Rory. 

"  It  does  not  do  you  much  good,  thin,"  said  Kath- 
leen.     "  You  hear  me,  but  you  don't  heed  me." 

"  Why,  if  you  go  to  that,  how  can  I  help  myself? 
Sure  you  might  as  well  keep  the  ducks  from  the 
wather,  or  the  bees  from  the  flowers,  as  my  heart 
from  you,   Kathleen." 

"Now,  Rory,  lave  off!" 

"  By  this  light,  Kathleen  !  " 

"  Now  don't  be  goin'  on,  Rory  !  " 

"  There  's  not  a  girl " 

"  Now,  don't  be  makin'  a  fool  o'  yourself  and  me 
too,"  said  Kathleen. 

"  If  makin'  you  my  own  would  be  to  make  a  fool 
of  you,  thin  it 's  a  fool  I  'd  make  you,  sure  enough," 
said  Rorv. 

"  Rorv,"  said  Kathleen  rather  sadly,  "  don't  be 
talkin'  this  way  to  me,  —  it's  good  for  neither  of 
us." 

"  Kathleen  darling  !  "  said  Rory,  "  what  's  the 
matther  with  you  ? "  and  he  approached  her,  and 
gently  took   her  hand. 

"  Nothing,"  said  she,  "  nothing,  —  only  it 's  fool- 
ishness." 

VOL.   I. —8 


114  Rory  O'More 

"  Don't  call  honest  love,  foolishness,  Kathleen 
dear.  Sure,  why  would  we  have  hearts  in  our  bodies 
if  we  did  n't  love  ?  Sure,  our  hearts  would  be  no 
use  at  all  without  we  wor  fond  of  one  another. 
Arrah  !   what 's  the  matther  with  you,  Kathleen  ?  " 

"  I  must  go  home,  Rory  ;  —  let  me  go,  Rory  dear," 
said  she  with  a  touching  tone  of  sadness  on  the  dear^ 
as  she  strove  to  disengage  from  her  waist,  the  hand 
that  Rory  had  stolen  round  it. 

"  No,  I  won't  let  you  go,  Kathleen,  ma  vourneen" 
said  Rory,  with  passion  and  pathos,  as  he  held  her 
closer  in  his  embrace.  "  Now  or  never,  Kathleen,  I 
must  have  your  answer.  You  are  the  girl  that  is, 
and  ever  was,  in  the  very  core  of  my  heart,  and  I  '11 
never  love  another  but  yourself.  Don't  be  afraid  that 
I  '11  change  ;  I  'm  young,  but  I  'm  thrue  :  the  blessed 
sun  that  sees  us  both  this  minit  is  not  thruer;  and 
he  's  a  witness  to  what  I  say  to  you  now,  Kathleen 
asthore^  that  you  are  the  pulse  o'  my  heart,  and  I  '11 
never  rest  aisy  till  you  're  my  wife." 

Kathleen  could  not  speak.  She  trembled  while 
Rory  made  his  last  address  to  her  ;  her  lip  quivered 
as  he  proceeded ;  two  big  tear-drops  sprang  to  her 
eyes,  and  hung  on  their  long  dark  lashes,  when  he 
called  her  "  pulse  of  his  heart  j "  but  when  he  named 
the  holy  name  of  wife,  she  fell  upon  his  neck  and 
burst  into  a  violent  flood  of  tears. 

Rory  felt  this  was  a  proof  of  his  being  beloved;  but 
't  was  not  the  way  in  which,  from  Kathleen's  spor- 
tive nature,  he  thought  it  likely  she  would  accept  a 
husband  to  whom  there  was  no  objection  ;  and  while 
he  soothed  the  sobbing  of  the  agitated  girl,  he  won- 
dered what  could  be  the  cause  of  her  violent  emotion. 
When  she  became  calm,  he  said,  "  Kathleen  dear, 
don't  be  vexed  with  me  if  I  took  you  too  sudden  :  — 
you  know  I  'm  none  of  the  coolest,  and  so  forgive  me. 


Rory  O'More  115 

jewel!  I'll  say  no  more  to  you  now; — only  give 
me  an  answer  at  your  own  good  time,  my  darling." 

Kathleen  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  said, 
"  No,  Rory  dear :  you  've  been   plain  with  me,  and 

I  '11  be  plain  with  you.     As  for  myself "  she 

looked  up  in  his  eyes,  and  their  soft  and  confiding 
expression,  and  the  gentle  pressure  of  the  hand  that 
accompanied  the  look,  told  more  than  the  words 
could  have  done  which  her  maiden  modesty  forbade 
her  utter. 

"You  love  me,  then?  "  said  Rory  with  delighted 
energy  ;  and  he  pressed  her  to  his  heart  while  she 
yielded  her  lips  to  the  pressure  of  a  kiss  which  the 
fire  of  pure  love  had  refined  from  the  dross  of 
passion. 

"  Oh,  Rory,  —  but  my  brother  Shan  ?  " 

"  Well,  what  o'  that  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"Oh,  you  know,  —  you  know,"  said  Kathleen 
mournfully. 

"  Yis,  Mary  didn't  take  to  him;  but  sure  that's 
no  rayson." 

"  Oh  !  you  don't  know  him  !  " 

"  We  've  been  rather  cool,  to  be  sure,  since,  but  I 
never  put  coolness  between  me  and  him  ;  and  if  my 
sisther  could  n't  like  him,  sure  that  's  no  rayson  to 
put  between  you  and  me." 

"  Oh,  Rory,  Shan   is  very  dark  ;  and  I  'm  afeard." 

"But  why  should  he  prevent  our  comin'  together? 
Sure  is  n't  there  your  mother  ?  " 

"  Oh,  but  she  's  afeard  of  him,  and " 

"  But  how  do  you  know  he  would  make  objec- 
tions ? " 

The  poor  girl  blushed  scarlet  as  she  said,  "Why,  to 
tell  you  the  thruth,  Rory,  and  it 's  no  matther  now  that 
you  know  it,  afther  what  's  passed  between  us  this 
morning  ;    but  Shan  suspected  I  liked  you,  and    he 


ii6  Rory  O'More 

warned  me  agen  it,  and  swore  a  bitter  oath,  that  if 
ever  I  'd  think  of  you,  he  'd " 

«  What  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"  Curse  me,"  said  Kathleen ;  and  she  shuddered  as 
she  said  it. 

"  God  forgive  him  !  "  said  Rory  solemnly.  "  But 
never  mind,  Kathleen  ;  I  '11  meet  him,  and  I  '11  spake 
him  fair,  and  tell  him  the  thruth.  And  when  I  spake 
to  him  like  a  man,  he  can't  be  less  of  a  man,  and  he 
would  n't  be  of  so  dark  a  heart  to  keep  spite  agen  me 
because  my  sisther  did  n't  love  him." 

"  It  's  the  kind  and  generous  heart  you  have,  Rory  ; 
but  I  'm  afeard  it  would  be  no  use  :  at  all  events, 
don't  be  in  a  hurry  about  it ;  wait  a  bit,  and  maybe 
when  he  comes  across  some  other  girl  that  will  wane 
his  heart  from  the  owld  love,  he  may  be  aisier  about 
it ;  but  at  this  present,  Rory  dear,  don't  purtend  that 
you  love  me,  nor  let  on  what  you  said  to  me  this 
morning." 

"  It 's  hard  to  hide  what 's  in  the  heart,"  said 
Rory  ;  "  for  even  if  the  tongue  does  n't  bethray  you, 
it  may  peep  out  of  your  eyes." 

"  But  we  sha'n't  meet  often,"  said  Kathleen  ;  "  so 
there  will  be  the  less  danger  of  that." 

"That 's  hard  too,"  said  Rory.     "  But,  Kathleen, 

will  you "  he  could  not  finish  the  sentence,  but 

Kathleen  caught  his  meaning,  and  said,  — 

"  You  could  n't  say  the  words,  Rory,  —  you  were 
going  to  say,  will  I  be  thrue  to  you  .?  Oh,  Rory 
dear  !  I  have  given  you  my  heart,  because  I  could  n't 
help  it,  and  I  trust  to  you  that  you  have  given  me 
yours ;  and,  oh !  don't  take  it  away  from  me !  I 
must  hide  my  love  for  a  time.  I  '11  hide  it  as  a  miser 
would  hide  his  gold ;  and  oh,  Rory  !  don't  let  me 
find  the  treasure  gone  when  I  may  venture  to  show  it 
to  the  day." 


Rory  0'Mo?^e  117 

"  Kathleen  darling  !  while  there  's  life  in  my  heart, 
it  is  you  are  the  queen  of  it." 

"  Go,  now,"  said  Kathleen  ;  "  go,  —  don't  stay 
longer  here ;  I  would  n't  have  you  seen  for  the 
king's  ransom." 

"  May  the  heavens  bless  and  keep  you  !  "  said  Rorj' ; 
"  one  more  kiss,  my  own  —  own  girl ;  "  and  clasp- 
ing her  in  his  arms,  they  bade  each  other  farewell. 

Rory  hurried  on  with  a  rapid  step  that  accorded 
with  the  tumult  of  his  feelings,  and  was  soon  lost  to 
Kathleen's  sight.  She  looked  after  him  vv^hile  he  re- 
mained within  view,  and  then  resumed  her  occupa- 
tion ;  but  it  was  in  silence.  The  sportive  song  had 
ceased  —  the  light-heartedness  of  the  girl  had  passed 
away  even  with  the  consciousness  of  a  deeper  pleasure. 
Her  task  ended,  she  took  up  her  pail,  and  went  her 
way  homewards,  but  not  with  the  elastic  step  with  vi^hich 
she  had  trodden  the  wild  flowers  on  her  outgoing. 

When  Rory  gained  the  high  road,  he  pursued  his 
way  mechanically  towards  the  place  of  his  destination, 
without  a  thought  of  the  immediate  business  he  had  in 
hand.  His  brain  was  in  a  whirl,  and  his  heart  in  a 
blaze  ;  and  love  and  Kathleen  Regan  were  the  objects 
of  his  thoughts,  and  not  conspiracies  and  his  mysteri- 
ous guest. 

His  approach  to  the  town,  however,  reminded  him 
of  the  object  of  his  mission,  and  he  proceeded  at  the 
appointed  hour  to  the  public-house  indicated  by  De 
Lacy.  It  was  market-day  in  the  town,  so  that  the 
public-house  was  more  crowded  than  on  ordinary  oc- 
casions ;  and  Rory,  when  he  entered,  saw  many  per- 
sons engaged  in  drinking  porter  and  whiskey,  but 
mostly  the  latter.  He  cast  his  eyes  about  to  see  if 
such  a  group  as  he  was  instructed  to  look  for  was 
there,  and  more  than  one  party  of  three  was  present ; 
he  therefore  had    to  exercise   his   sagacity  in  selecting 


ii8  Rory  O'More 

which  of  the  groups  was  the  one  to  test  by  his  signal, 
—  and  he  was  not  long  in  deciding.  It  was  at  the 
further  end  of  the  room,  where  a  small  square  window 
admitted  as  much  light  as  could  find  its  way  through 
some  panes  of  greenish  glass,  with  bulls'  eyes  in  the 
middle  of  them,  covered  with  dust,  that  three  men 
were  seated  at  a  dirty  table  where  a  congregation  of 
flies  were  finishing  a  pot  of  porter.  The  aspect  of  one 
of  the  men  struck  Rory  to  be  "outlandish,"  as  he 
would  have  said  himself,  and  the  quick  and  restless 
twinkle  of  his  dark  eye  spoke  of  a  more  southern 
climate.  To  this  group  Rory  approached,  and  look- 
ing round,  as  it  were  to  see  where  he  should  sit,  he 
asked  permission  of  *he  party  to  take  share  of  their 
box  —  for  the  room  was  divided  into  such  compart- 
ments. They  made  room  for  him ;  and  he,  taking 
up  the  empty  quart-pot  on  whose  dregs  the  flies  were 
regaling,  knocked  loudly  with  it  on  the  table  and 
started  the  buzzing  nuisances  from  their  banquet,  and 
being  driven  from  their  pewter  palace,  they  alighted 
on  the  various  little  pools  and  meandering  streams  of 
various  liquids  that  stood  upon  the  filthy  table,  which 
seemed  to  be  left  to  them  as  a  sort  of  patrimony,  as  the 
fallen  dates  are  to  the  wanderers  in  the  East.  The 
tender-hearted  sthreel  who  was  the  Hebe  of  the  house 
would  not  have  robbed  the  poor  flies  of  their  feast  for  the 
world,  by  wiping  the  table.  Charity  is  a  great  virtue  ! 
This  dirty  handmaiden  came  in  answer  to  Rory's 
thumping  of  the  quart-pot  on  the  board. 

*•  Loose  were  her  tresses  seen, 
Her  zone  unbound." 

Her  foot  was  unsandalled,  too ;  in  short,  she  was, 
as  Rory  remarked  to  his  neighbour  beside  him,  "  loose 
and  careless,  like  the  leg  of  a  pot." 

"  What  do  yizz  want  ?  "  says  Hebe. 


Rory  O'More  119 

"  Something  to  dhrink,"  says  Rory. 

"  Is  it  a  pot,  a  pint,  or  a  crapper  ?  "  says  Hebe. 

"  I  '11  jist  take  the  cobwebs  out  o'  my  throat  with 
a  pint  first,"  says  'R.ory. 

"  I  '11  sarve  you  immadiently,"  says  Hebe,  who 
took  up  the  quart,  and  to  save  time  she  threw  out 
the  dregs  of  the  liquor  it  had  contained  on  the  floor, 
and  then  held  it  up  inverted  in  a  most  graceful  manner, 
that  it  might  drain  itself  clean  for  the  next  customer  j 
so  that  her  course  might  be  tracked  up  and  down  the 
room  by  the  drippings  of  the  various  vessels,  and  thus 
she,  "  did  her  spiriting  gently,  dropping  odours,  drop- 
ping wine,"  ale,  and  sper'ts. 

She  returned  soon  with  a  pint  of  porter  to  Rory, 
who  took  out  a  shilling  to  pay  for  it.  "  I  '11  throuble 
you  for  the  change,  my  dear,"  said  he. 

Off  she  went  again  to  get  the  change,  and,  after 
some  time,  again  returned,  bearing  two  quarts  of 
porter  in  one  hand,  and  a  jug  of  punch  hanging  be- 
tween the  fore-finger  and  thumb  of  the  other,  while  a 
small  roll  of  tobacco  and  a  parcel  of  halfpence  were 
clutched  in  the  remaining  fingers.  The  liquids  and 
the  tobacco  she  deposited  before  a  party  that  sat  in  a 
box  opposite  to  Rory,  and  then,  advancing  to  him, 
she  flopped  the  halfpence  down  on  the  table  before 
him,  and  putting  her  hand  to  her  mouth,  pulled  out 
of  it  a  piece  of  tin  which  she  was  pleased  to  call  six- 
pence, and  sticking  it  on  the  top  of  the  halfpence,  she 
said,  "There  's  your  change,  sir." 

••'  It  's  a  tinker  you  have  to  make  change  for  you, 
I  b'lieve,"  said  Rory. 

"  How  is  it  a  tinker  ?  "  said  the  damsel. 

"  Oh,  I  would  n't  take  that  piece  of  tin  from  you 
for  the  world,"  said  Rory;  "you  might  want  it  to 
stop  a  hole  in  a  saucepan,  and  maybe  it 's  coming 
afther  me  you  'd  be   for  it." 


I20  Rory  O^More 

"  I  'd  be  long  sorry  to  folly  you,"  said  the  damsel, 
saucily,  and  turning  away. 

"See,  young  woman,"  said  Rory — "don't  be  in 
sitch  a  hurry  if  you  plaze  —  I  gave  you  a  good  hog,i 
and  I  '11  throuble  you  for  a  good  taisther." 

"I  haven't  a  betther  to  give  you,  sir — barrin' 
halfpence." 

"  Well  I  'm  noways  proud,  so  the  halfpence  will 
do  for  me  ;  good  copper  is  betther  than  bad  silver, 
any  day." 

The  state  of  the  silver  currency  in  Ireland  at  this 
period  was  disgraceful — so  bad,  that  it  left  the  public 
almost  at  the  mercy  of  the  coiners.  When  the  War- 
wickshire militia  went  to  Ireland,  many  of  the  privates, 
having  been  workmen  in  Birmingham,  were  very  smart 
hands  at  the  practice,  and  many  stories  are  current 
of  their  doings  in  this  line.  Amongst  others,  it  is 
stated  that  a  party  of  these  men  in  a  public-house 
offered  some  bad  money  for  what  they  had  drunk  ; 
but  the  publican  being  on  his  guard,  as  their  habits  in 
this  way  were  becoming  notorious,  refused  several  shil- 
lings one  after  another.  The  soldier  who  offered  them 
said  the  dealer  in  liquor  was  over-particular ;  but  he 
retorted,  that  they  were  so  well  known  for  their  tricks, 
it  was  necessary  to  be  cautious.  "  Well,"  said  the 
soldier  at  last,  "here  then,  since  nothing  else  will 
do ;  "  and  he  threv/  down  another  coin,  and  a  very 
good-looking  one  it  was.  The  landlord  examined  it 
for  a  while,  but  at  last  it  was  rejected.  "  What !  " 
said  the  soldier,  "  nor  not  that  noither  !  "  "  No," 
said  the  landlord.  So  a  good  shilling  was  obliged  to 
be  produced  at  last,  and  as  the  party  left  the  house, 
the  discomfited  hero  was  heard  to  say,  "  Well,  I  never 
know'd  one  6*   Tom's  make  to  miss  before." 

^The  shilling  and  sixpence  were  called  by  the  lower  orders 
"  hog"  and  "tester." 


Rory  O'More  121 

The  girl  brought  back  Rory  the  value  of  the  six- 
pence in  copper  —  or  rather,  much  more  than  its 
value ;  and  then  Rory  commenced  reckoning  his 
change,  which  was  the  means  he  had  decided  on  for 
throwing  out  his  signal.  So,  spreading  the  halfpence 
before  him,  he  began, — 

"One,  two,  three  —  there's  some  sense  in  good 
halfpence;  one,  two,  three  —  jist  as  if  I  was  to  rob 
you  of  your  tin,  my  good  girl ;  one,  two,  three  — 
phoo  !   murdher!   I'm  mixin'   them  all." 

"  Arrah  will  you  never  be  done  reckonin'  them  !  " 
said  Hebe  impatiently  ;  "  one  ud  think  't  was  a  hun- 
dher  poun'  you  wor  countin',  let  alone  change  of  a 
hog.  I  'm  thinkin',  it 's  no  great  credit  to  your 
schoolmasther  you  are." 

"  Fair  and  aisy  goes  far  in  a  day,"  said  Rory,  again 
commencing  to  count  his  change. 

"  One,  two,  three  ;  "  and  while  he  spoke,  he  looked 
at  the  dark-eyed  man,  in  whose  face  he  fancied  he 
caught  something  of  an  expression  of  the  intelligence 
of  his  meaning,  and  the/i  he  proceeded  with  his  reckon- 
ing and  dismissed  the  girl. 

One  of  the  men  now  addressed  him  and  said, 
"  You  are  particular  in  counting  your  change." 

"  Yes,  indeed  I  am,"  said  Rory,  "and  I  '11  tell  you 
the  reason  why  :  because  I  lost  some  money  the  other 
day  by  not  being  particular  in  that  same,  when  I  was 
buying  some  ducks." 

The  dark-eyed  man  looked  very  sharply  on  Rory 
as  he  proceeded. 

"To  be  sure,  I  didn't  mind  the  loss  much,  for 
the  ducks  was  worth  the  money.      They  luor  very  fine 

ducks  r 

A  still  keener  glance  from  the  dark-eyed  man 
followed  Rory's  last  words,  and  he  rose  immediately, 
and  left  the  public-house ;  his  two  companions  did  so 


122  Rory  0' More 

likewise,  and  Rory  lost  no  time  in  following  them. 
On  reaching  the  door,  he  saw  them  standing  together 
a  few  paces  removed  from  the  house,  and  on  seeing 
him  appear  they  walked  down  the  quay  until  they 
arrived  at  a  corner,  where  looking  back  to  see  that 
he  followed,  they  turned  up  the  street.  Rory  tracked 
them,  and  at  another  turn  the  same  practice  was  ob- 
served by  his  conductors,  whom  he  continued  to 
follow,  dodging  them  through  many  an  intricate 
winding,  until  arriving  at  a  very  narrow  alley,  they 
turned  for  the  last  time,  and  when  Rory  reached  the 
spot,  he  perceived  them  about  half-way  up  the  passage 
standing  at  the  mouth  of  a  cellar  ;  and  the  moment 
he  appeared,  they  all  suddenly  descended.  He  fol- 
lowed fast  upon  them,  and  going  down  a  steep  and 
broken  stair,  entered  a  low  door  which  was  closed  the 
moment  he  had  passed  it,  and  he  found  himself  in 
total  darkness. 


CHAPTER   X 

IN  WHICH  RORY  HEARS  AND  SEES  MORE  THAN  HE 
BARGAINED  FOR,  AND  FINDS  IN  THE  CONCLUSION 
THE  TRUTH  OF  THE  PROVERB,  THAT  PROVIDENCE 
NEVER  SHUTS  ONE  DOOR  WITHOUT  OPENING 
ANOTHER 

WHILE  spots  of  red  and  green  were  dancing  be- 
fore Rory's  eyes  by  his  sudden  immersion 
from  light  into  darkness,  a  voice  close  beside  him 
said, — 

"  Ver  glaad  to  see  you." 

"  God  spare  you  your  eyesight !  "  said  Rory  ;  "  I 
wish  I  could  return  the  compliment  to  you." 

Rory  heard  a  low  laugh  in  another  tone,  and  then 
the  former  voice  spoke  again  :  — 

"  Whaat !  you  no  glaad  to  see  me  ?  " 

*'  'Faith,  I  would  be  very  glad  to  see  you  ;  but  how 
can  I  see  you  in  the  dark  ?  " 

"  Ho  !   ho  !   I  see,  you  fonee  feylow  —  ha  ha  !  " 

"  Strek  a  light,"  said  another  voice. 

"  Wait  a  minit  —  I  'm  gettin'  the  tendher-box," 
was  the  answer. 

The  foreign  voice  again  said,  addressing  Rory, 

"  You  air  wailcome." 

"  Thank  you  kindly,"  said  Rory  ;  "  give  us  your 
fist." 

"  Vaut  you  say  ?  " 

"  Give  us  your  fist." 


124  Rory  O'More 


"  He 's  biddin'  you  shake  hands  wid  him,"  said 
a  voice  that  had  not  yet  spoken  ;  and  Rory  thought 
it  was  one  he  should  know,  though  where  he  had 
heard  it  he  could  not  remember. 

"  Oh  !  "   said  the  foreigner,  "  donnex-moi  la  main." 

"  No,  I  dunna  any  man,"  said  Rory. 

"  Bah  !   shek  han'  wis  me  !  "   said  the  voice. 

Rory  now  stretched  out  his  hand,  and  encountered 
an  extended  palm  which  grasped  his  and  exchanged 
with  him  the  grip  of  the  United  Irishman. 

This  satisfied  Rory  all  was  right,  and  he  now 
waited  with  patience  for  the  light.  The  sound  of 
a  flint  and  steel,  followed  by  a  shower  of  sparks, 
showed  that  the  process  of  illumination  was  going 
forward  ;  the  tinder  soon  became  ignited,  and  the 
sharp  sound  of  blowing  was  soon  followed  by  the 
lighting  of  a  match  —  and  the  first  face  that  its  lurid 
glare  fell  upon  was  that  of  Shan  Regan. 

Rory  started  :  he  was  the  last  person  he  expected 
to  meet,  and  certainly  the  last  he  could  have  wished 
to  see  in  that  place.  A  coolness  for  some  time  had 
existed  between  them,  as  the  reader  already  knows ; 
and  though  Rory  fully  intended  to  do  all  in  his  power 
to  remove  it,  and  to  meet  Regan  for  that  purpose  as 
often  as  he  could,  yet  on  such  an  occasion  as  the 
present  he  could  have  wished  him  absent.  His  pres- 
ence there,  it  is  true,  showed  him  to  be  engaged  in 
the  same  cause  as  Ror\',  and  one  at  the  first  glance 
might  suppose  that  this  would  have  facilitated  a 
reconciliation  between  them  ;  but  on  closer  examina- 
tion we  shall  find  this  not  to  be  the  case.  In  all 
conspiracies  where  men  are  linked  together  in  a  cause 
whose  penalty  is  death,  private  friendship  is  desirable 
amongst  its  members,  at  least  in  its  early  stages, 
where  fidelity  is  essential  to  its  existence.  Personal 
foes  may  fight  side  by  side  in  the  same  cause  when 


Rory  O'More  125 

once  a  conspiracy  arrives  at  its  outbreak ;  but  in  its 
secret  preparatory  councils,  a  man  recoils  from  the 
contact  of  any  but  a   friend. 

It  was  the  consciousness  of  this  fact,  perhaps,  that 
led  to  the  ingenious  construction  of  the  plan  by  which 
the  heads  of  the  Society  of  United  Irishmen  contrived 
to  organise  a  great  portion  of  Ireland.  The  system 
was  this  :  There  was  a  Chief  Committee  of  twelve ; 
each  of  these  twelve  was  the  head  of  another  twelve, 
but  between  each  knot  of  twelve  there  was  no  ac- 
quaintance—  they  were  totally  distinct  from  each 
other;  so  that  an  extensive  ramification  of  union 
existed  in  parties  of  twelve,  each  obeying  its  own 
superior,  through  whom,  alone,  all  commands  and 
plans  were  conveyed.  Each  knot  was  thus  a  little 
band  of  friends,  and  from  their  distinctness,  the  secret 
was  the  more  likely  to  be  kept.  It  will  be  seen  that 
by  this  means  the  Head  Committee  organised  one 
hundred  and  forty-four  members,  whose  knots  of 
twelve  each  being  multiplied,  gives  a  force  of  twenty 
thousand  seven  hundred  and  odd  men,  and  their  mul- 
tiplied dozens  would  produce  nearly  two  hundred  and 
forty-nine  thousand ;  thus,  at  three  removes  from  the 
focus  of  the  system,  a  powerful  force  was  at  a  mo- 
ment's command,  within  whose  several  knots  private 
friendship  as  well  as  the  common  cause  was  a  source 
of  union  and  fidelity.  It  was  only  in  the  higher 
grades  of  the  confederation  that  private  signals  existed. 
In  the  inferior  classes,  each  dozen  only  knew  their 
own  circle ;  so  that  to  whatever  extent  the  system 
might  be  spread,  each  of  the  subordinate  actors  was 
intimate  with  no  more  than  twelve  persons,  which 
tended  at  once  to  give  greater  personal  security, 
and  to  prevent  also  a  premature  explosion  of  the 
conspiracy. 

This  brief  sketch  of  the  system  is  given,  to  account 


126  Rory  O'More 

for  Rory  not  knowing  Regan  to  be  a  United  man, 
although  living  in  the  same  district.  Regan  belonged 
to  another  circle ;  and  it  was  from  very  different 
desires  that  he  was  of  the  association,  and  with  a 
very  different  set  that  he  was  leagued.  Rory  became 
a  United  Irishman  from  other  and  better  motives 
than  Regan.  However  erroneous  those  motives  might 
have  been,  they  had  their  origin  in  a  generous  nature ; 
wild  notions  of  the  independence  of  his  country  were 
uppermost  in  the  mind  of  Rory,  while  the  mere  love 
of  licence  was  the  incentive  to  Regan.  During  that 
terrible  period  of  Ireland's  history,  some  of  the  in- 
surgents were  pure,  however  mistaken  enthusiasts  ; 
while  there  were  others  whose  love  of  turbulence  was 
their  only  motive.  Of  the  latter  class  was  Regan  ; 
he  had  inherited  from  his  father  a  comfortable  farm, 
but  his  love  of  debasing  amusements  —  such  as  cock- 
fighting,  &c.,  the  frequency  of  his  visits  to  public- 
houses,  and  his  attachment  to  disorderly  company, 
had  led  him  from  the  wholesome  pursuits  that  would 
have  made  him  good  and  prosperous,  to  become  im- 
provident and  embarrassed. 

It  is  strange  that  whenever  this  takes  place,  a  man 
mostly  becomes  an  idler :  the  very  fact  which  should 
warn  him  of  his  danger,  and  make  him  exert  himself 
the  more,  generally  operates  in  the  contrary  way.  He 
gives  himself  up  as  it  were  to  ruin,  and  seeks  in  dissi- 
pation forgetfulness  of  the  past  and  disregard  of  the 
future.  This  state  of  things  lasts  as  long  as  there  is 
any  thing  left  to  support  him  ;  and  when  all  is  lost, 
he  is  then  fit  for  every  sort  of  violence  or  meanness ; 
—  he  must  be  either  a  beggar  or  a  desperado. 

It  was  in  the  middle  stage  that  Regan  fell  in  with 
De  Welskein.  They  were  just  the  men  for  each 
other  :  —  Regan  was  the  head  of  a  disorderly  set  of 
fellows,  who  were  ready  and  active  agents  in  assisting 


Rory  O^More  127 

the  Frenchman  in  his  smuggling ;  and,  in  return,  the 
brandy,  and  tobacco,  and  merry-makings  of  the  smug- 
gler were  ample  temptations  and  regards  for  Regan. 
The  debauched  orgies  of  the  cellar,  where  Rory  now 
found  himself  for  the  first  time,  were  familiar  to  the 
unfortunate  victim  of  idleness,  bad  company,  and 
lawless  desires. 

Though  he  was  often  absent  from  home  and  ne- 
glected his  husbandry,  he  still  retained  his  farm  ;  but 
his  payments  of  rent  became  irregular,  his  farming 
stock  grew  less  by  degrees ;  a  cow,  a  sheep,  a  pig, 
was  obliged  now  and  then  to  be  sacrificed  to  supply 
his  riotous  propensities,  and  his  poor  mother  and 
sister  saw  with  sorrow  their  comforts  lessening  around 
them :  but  they  complained  not,  for  they  dreaded  the 
fierce  temper  of  Shan  Dhu,  or  Black  John,  as  he  was 
called.  It  was  not  only  the  diminution  of  his  worldly 
substance  they  lamented,  but  they  felt  that  the  most 
respectable  of  their  neighbours,  one  by  one,  dropped 
ofF  from  their  acquaintance  with  them ;  and  this,  to 
the  sensitive  nature  of  the  Irish  peasant,  cuts  deeper 
than  even  want.  Want,  they  are  familiar  with  ;  they 
see  it  on  every  side,  and  they  can  bear  it  with  patience  : 
but  the  social  virtues  flourish  amongst  them  in  the 
midst  of  barrenness,  like  the  palms  in  the  desert. 

Amongst  the  friendships  which  had  decayed  was  that 
of  the  O'Mores.  The  widow  loved  her  daughter  too 
well  to  give  her  to  a  disorderly,  though  a  compara- 
tively wealthy  peasant,  as  Shan  Regan  was  when  he 
asked  Mary  O'More  for  his  wife  ;  and  Mary  herself 
had  an  intuitive  dislike  for  all  that  was  gross,  which 
revolted  from  Regan's  brutal  nature.  Rory,  though 
he  knew  him  not  as  a  friend  at  any  period, —  for  the 
men  were  too  unlike  each  other  ever  to  have  associated 
closely,  —  yet  always  had  recognised  him  as  an  old 
acquaintance    whenever    they    met  j    but    he    never 


128  Ro?y  0' More 

sought  his  company  —  for  Rory,  though  as  full  of 
fun,  as  fond  of  mirth,  and  loving  his  glass,  his  joke, 
and  a  pretty  girl,  as  much  as  every  Irishman  ought  to 
do^  yet  he  reverenced  the  decencies  of  life  too  much 
to  be  a  drunkard,  a  buffoon,  or  a  debauchee.  His 
acquaintanceship  with  Regan  might  have  gone  on,  as 
far  as  Rory  was  concerned,  just  the  same,  quite  unin- 
fluenced by  his  sister's  refusal ;  but  not  so  with  the 
rejected  one.  He  considered  the  part  Mary  had  taken 
as  a  family  affront  :  his  pride  (such  as  it  was)  was 
wounded  more  than  his  heart ;  or  rather,  it  was  his 
love  for  himself,  and  not  for  the  girl,  that  suffered 
most.  So  he  made  a  feud  of  the  business,  and  in- 
cluded Rory  amongst  his  foes.  To  this  he  was  the 
more  inclined,  as  he  suspected  Conolly,  who  was  a 
sworn  friend  of  O'More's,  to  be  his  rival. 

From  all  these  circumstances,  it  is  no  wonder  that 
Rory  was  startled  at  seeing  Regan  at  such  a  time  : 
but  as  he  could  not  help  himself,  he  determined  to 
affect  composure,  which  he  was  the  better  able  to 
accomplish,  as  he  had  time  to  recover  from  his  sur- 
prise before  his  presence  was  manifest  to  Regan. 
The  scene  that  had  occurred  in  the  morning,  too, 
rendered  him  the  more  anxious  to  conciliate,  and  with 
a  sincere  wish  to  overcome  the  coolness  that  Regan 
had  lately  observed  towards  him,  he  advanced  to  him 
with  open  hand  and  greeted  him  kindly.  It  was 
obvious,  from  the  expression  that  passed  over 
Regan's  face,  that  the  meeting  was  quite  as  startling 
and  disagreeable  to  him  as  it  had  been  to  Rory,  who 
continued  still,  however,  the  offer  of  his  hand,  and 
repeated  his  words  of  kindly  recognition.  A  cold 
reply  was  all  that  followed,  though  the  hand  was 
accepted  :  but  there  was  no  sympathy  in  the  contact ; 
the  touch  of  friendship  was  wanting,  —  that  touch 
whose  sensation  is  so  undefinable,  but  so  well  under- 


Rory  O'More  129 

stood,  —  that  natural  freemasonry  which  springs  from 
and  is  recognised  by  the  heart. 

As  soon  as  the  hght  was  struck,  a  lamp  was  lighted 
in  a  ship-lantern  that  hung  from  the  low  roof  of  the 
cellar  over  a  coarse  table  round  which  benches  of  a 
rude  construction  were  placed.  Another  person  as 
well  as  Regan  was  present  in  addition  to  the  three 
Rorv'  had  followed  from  the  public-house ;  and  this 
man  seemed  more  familiar  with  De  Welskein  than 
any  of  the  others,  and  sometimes  addressed  him  in 
French.  Round  the  cellar  were  some  coils  of  rope  ; 
a  couple  of  hammocks  were  hung  in  one  corner ;  two 
or  three  kegs  and  some  rolls  of  tobacco  were  stowed 
away  under  a  truckle-bed  in  another  quarter  of  the 
den  ;  and  in  a  rude  cupboard,  coarse  trenchers  and 
drinking-cans  were  jumbled  together,  with  some  stone 
jars  of  a  foreign  aspect.  After  some  bustle,  pipes 
and  tobacco  were  laid  on  the  table,  the  stone  bottles 
and  the  drinking  vessels  were  taken  from  the  cup- 
board, and  De  Welskein  invited  Rory  to  sit  down 
beside  him. 

"  Combe,  you  sair  —  sect  down  —  here  someting 
for  you  to  drink  —  not  nastee,  like  pobelick-house, 
bote  goot  —  ha,  ha  !  No  doretee  portere,  bote  bran- 
dee  —  ver  goot  and  nussing  to  pay." 

All  the  men  sat  down,  and  sending  the  stone  jars 
from  man  to  man,  the  cans  were  charged  with 
brandy,  slightly  diluted  with  water  from  a  black 
pitcher;  pipes  were  lighted,  smoking  and  drinking 
commenced,  and  while  a  desultory  conversation  was 
kept  up  among  the  rest  of  the  party,  De  Welskein 
questioned  Rory  as  to  the  cause  of  his  being  the 
messenger  to  him.  Rory  made  him  acquainted  with 
De  Lacy's  illness,  and  the  circumstances  that  led  to 
his  being  his  guest;  in  all  of  which  communica- 
tion the  person  who  spoke  French  assisted   in  mak- 

VOL.  I.  —  9 


130  Rory  O'More 

ing  De  Welskein  and  Rory  intelligible  to  each  other. 
This  was  no  very  easy  matter  sometimes ;  the 
Frenchman's  English  bothering  Rory  uncommonly, 
as  his  name  did  also.  However,  as  it  was  necessary 
he  should  drink  to  the  founder  of  the  feast,  he  was 
obliged  to  make  an  offer  at  his  name,  and  so  he 
boldly  took  his  can  of  grog  in  his  hand  and  with  his 
best  bow  said, — 

"  Here  's  to  your  good  health,  Mr.  Wilkison." 

A  laugh  followed  at  Rory's  expense,  in  which  the 
Frenchman  only  half  joined,  for  it  has  already  been 
noticed  that  his  name  was  matter  of  anxiety  to  him ; 
so  as  soon  as  the  laugh  had  subsided,  he  said, — 

"  No,  no  !   not  dat  my  nem  ;  —  De  Welskein." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir  —  but  would  you  say  that 
agin,  if  you  plaze  ?  " 

The  Frenchman  now  slowly  and  distinctly  pro- 
nounced his  name,  giving  the  w  the  sound  of  the  v^ 
which  it  assumes  in  Dutch  names,  and  repeated, — 
"  De-Velskeen." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  says  Rory, — "I  ax  your 
pardon,  and  again  I  say.  Here  is  to  your  good  health, 
Mr.  Devilskin." 

A  roar  of  laughter  followed  this  mistake  of  Rory's, 
and  all  swore  that  that  was  the  best  name  of  all  the 
others  he  enjoyed  :  but  the  Frenchman  did  not  like 
it,  and  said  impatiently,  using  his  own  language, 
as  a  foreigner  generally  does  when  he  becomes 
excited, — 

"  Non^  non^  non^  mon  ami  '  —  Devilskeen  !  —  non  ; 
c^est  *  Poil-de-diahle  /  '  —  Sacr'e  —  quel  nom  !  —  '■Poil- 
de-diahle  !  '  you  say  not  dat.  —  Pierre,"  said  he,  ad- 
dressing his  friend  who  spoke  French,  '■'•faites-lui 
comprendre  mon  nom — pas  De  Welskein^  parceque  c* est 
trap  difficile^  mats   St.    Fo'ix." 

"  Ou  Sans-peur^"  said  Pierre. 


Rory  O'More 


i^i 


The  Frenchman  nodded  assent  and  said,  "  Bon." 
The  compliment  appeased   him. 

Pierre  now  told  Rory  to  address  De  Welskein  by 
the  favourite  name  of  Sans-peur ;  but  this  was  as 
difficult  to  Rory  as  the  other,  and  the  nearest  ap- 
proach he  could  make  to  it  was  "  Scamper."  This 
he  varied  sometimes  into  "  Sampler,"  or  "  Sand- 
paper,"  as  luck  would  have  it. 

While  the  drinking  and  smoking  proceeded,  De 
Welskein  told  Rory  of  the  intended  expedition  from 
the  Texel ;  and  when  he  had  given  him  all  the 
verbal  instruction  he  thought  requisite,  he  entrusted 
him  with  the  letter  to  De  Lacy  from  General 
Hoche. 

"  Tare  an'  ouns  I  "  said  Rory  ;  "  is  it  the  rale 
Gineral  Hoche  ?  "  for  Hoche's  name  and  reputation 
were  well  known  in  Ireland. 

"  Oui"  said  De  Welskein. 

"  What  do  you  mane  by  lue  F  —  It 's  not  uz  at  all 
I'm  axin'  about ;  but  I  want  to  know,  is  this  letthcr 
from  the  rale  gineral  ?  " 

"  Certanlee  !  —  oui." 

"  Augh  !  what  is  he  sayin'  we  for  ?  "  said  Rory, 
turning  to  Pierre,  who  was  grinning  at  Rory's  mis- 
takes and  the  Frenchman's   impatience. 

"  He  means,  yes,"  said  Pierre  :   "(?«/  means  yes." 

"Oh!  I  ax  your  pardon,  Mr.  Sandpaper;  —  then 
this  is  the  rale  gineral's  letther  !  Oh!  to  think  that 
I  'd  ever  see  the  proud  day  that  I  'd  have  a  letther  of 
Gineral  Hoche's  in  my  fist  !  "  and  he  kissed  it  with 
rapture. 

The  Frenchman  cried  "  Sacre  !  "  and  laughed  at 
his  enthusiasm;   and   Rory   proceeded, — 

"  And  will  we  see  the  gineral  here,  Mr.  Scraper  ?  " 

"Me  fraid  no!"  said  De  Welskein;  and  he 
shook  his  head  mysteriously  and  made  a  grimace. 


1^.2 


Rory  O^More 


"  What  do  you  mane  ?  "   said  Rory. 

"  Me  fraid  he  die." 

"  Is  it  Gineral  Hoche  die  !  —  arrah,  an'  what 
would  he  die  for  ?  " 

"  Me  tsinks  he  get  vaut  you  call  gunstump." 

"  Gun  —  what  ?  " 

"  He  as  got  de  gunstump  in  him." 

"  God  keep  us  !  "  says  Rory,  —  "  think  o'  that  ! 
And  where  is  it  in  him,  sir  ?  " 

"  Inside,  into  his  boddee." 

"  Oh !  murdher,  my  poor  fellow  !  to  have  the 
stump  of  a  gun  stickin'   in  him  !  " 

"No,  no,  de  gun  not  stick  in  him — you  mistak  ; 
it  is  vaut  I  vood  say,  dat  he  has  de  ticklehine." 

"  What  is  it  he  says  about  ticklin'  ?  "  said  Rory 
to  Pierre,  who  only  grinned  and  enjoyed  the  mutual 
mistakes  of  the  Frenchman  and  the  Paddy. 

"  Mai  a  la  pokrine"  said  De  Welskein. 

«  That 's  thrue,  'faith,"  said  Rory.  "  If  he  's  so 
bad  as  that,  his  only  dipindince  is  in  the  Padhereens^ 
sure  enough." 

Peter  (or  Pierre)  now  laughed  outright  at  Rory's 
blunder,  which  must  be  explained.  Padhereens  is  the 
name  the  Irish  give  to  their  beads,  upon  which  they 
count  the  number  of  Paters  (or  Pathers)  they  repeat, 
and  hence  the  name  Padhereens ;  and  Rory  very 
naturally  came  to  the  conclusion,  that  if  a  man  was 
at  the  point  of  death,  which  Rory  conceived  to  be 
most  likely  when  he  had  the  "  stump  of  a  gun  stickin^ 
in  him"  the  best  thing  he  could  do  would  be  to  say 
his  prayers. 

De  Welskein  saw  there  was  a  mystification  go- 
ing forward ;  so  he  said  to  Pierre,  "  Explique-z 
done!" 

"  What  he  says  is,"  said  Pierre,  "  that  the  general 
has  a  consumption." 


Rory  O'More  13; 


*'  Ah  !  I  forgess  de  terminaison ;  —  gunstumpsion,  — 
yais,  dat  is  raight !  —  gunstumpsion." 

"  Oh,  murdher  !  "  said  Rory  :  "  if  we  had  him 
here,  we  would  cure   him  intirely." 

"  Comment!'"  said  the  Frenchman. 

*'  Oh,  it 's  common  enough  in  this  country,  in- 
deed," said  Rory.  "The  finest  thing  in  the  world 
for  consumption  is  goat's  milk,  made  into  whay." 

"  Ah,  yais,  —  ghost's  milk  ver  goot." 

"  Goat's  milk,  I  say,"  says  Rory. 

"  Yais,  yais,  I  oonderstan',"  said  the  Frenchman 
with  great  complacency  :   "  Ghost's  milk." 

"'Faith  it's  ghost's  milk  he'll  be  takin',  I'm 
afeard,  sure  enough,"  said  Pierre,  laughing  at  De 
Welskein's  mistake. 

"  Oh,  murdher!"  said  Rory, "and  isGineral  Hoche 
goin'  to  die  ?      Oh,  thin  that   is  the  murdher  !  "  ^ 

So,  Rory,  in  the  idiom  of  his  language,  unintention- 
ally expressed  what  was  in  fact  the  fate  of  the  gallant 
Hoche. 

A  tap  at  the  door  of  the  cellar  announced  a  fresh 
arrival ;  and  after  some  signals  given,  the  door  was 
opened,  and  some  other  men  entered,  and,  at  short  in- 
tervals after,  a  few  girls.  Some  of  the  latter  v/ere 
good-looking,  though  with  a  certain  expression  of 
boldness  and  recklessness  that  Rory  did  not  admire. 
Rory  had  enough  of  imagination  and  sentiment  to 
render  the  society  of  the  softer  sex  always  matter  of 
delight  to  him  ;  but  there  was  something  in  the  man- 
ner of  these  girls  he  did  not  like. 

"You  see,"  said  De  Welskein,  "  de  leddees  mek 
visite  to  me." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Rorv,  who  did  not  know  how, 
very  well,  to  answer  this  appeal. 

"  But  you  no  dreenk." 

1  This  expression  means  "that  is  the  pity." 


134  Rory  O'More 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  I  'm  doin'  very  well." 

"  You  no  like  brandee  ?  " 

"  'Faith,  it 's  iligant  stufF  it  is  !  But  you  know, 
Mr.  Sandpaper,  that  enough  is  as  good  as  a  faist." 

"  If  you  no  like  brandee,  give  you  wine." 

Rory  refused  the  offer ;  but  one  of  the  girls  ad- 
dressed De  Welskein,  and  thanking  him  for  his  offer, 
said,  "if  he'd  make  a  big  jug  o'  the  nice  thing  he 
gave  them  the  other  night  ?  " 

Pierre  explained  to  him  that  some  of  the  ladies 
would  like  negus,  because  they  thought  it  genteel. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  Frenchman,  "  yais,  my  dear,  cer- 
ta'inement^  you  moste  have  your  leetle  niggers  :  vouds 
you  like  to  have  some  nutmarks  een  it  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Whelpskin  ?  "  said  the 
girl,  simpering. 

"  Vouds  you  like  nutmarks  ?  " 

Pierre  came  to  the  rescue.  *'  He  says,  would  you 
like  to  have  your  jug  o'  negus  made  with  nutmegs  ? 
my  darling." 

"Any  way  Mr.  Whelpskin  plazes." 

"  So  it 's  not  too  wake.^''  says  another. 

"  A  dash  o'  sper'ts  through  it  will  make  it  livelier, 
sir,"  said  the  most  audacious  of  the  party.  And  ac- 
cordingly a  large  jug  of  niggers,  with  nutmarks  and 
the  dash  o'  sper'ts,  was  made.  A  fiddler,  in  some 
time,  made  his  appearance  ;  and  after  the  first  jug  of 
niggers  had  been  demolished,  a  dance  was  set  on  foot. 
One  of  the  ladies  asked  Rory  to  "  stand  up  on  the 
flure,"  which,  of  course,  Rory  did,  and  exerted  him- 
self to  the  utmost  to  do  credit  to  his  dancing-master. 
In  short,  Rory,  though  he  did  not  like  the  party,  had 
intuitively  too  much  savoir  vivre  to  let  any  repug- 
nance he  might  entertain  be  manifested.  He  drank, 
to  be  sure,  sparingly  ;  and  after  the  niggers  was  in- 
troduced, he  took    no    more    brandy-and-water :    he 


Rory  O'More 


OD 


smoked  an  occasional  pipe,  and  danced  "  like  any 
thing,"  but  he  kept  himself  clear  of  intoxication, 
though  he  had  drunk  enough  to  produce  exhilaration. 
Dance  after  dance  succeeded  ;  and  Rory  displayed  so 
much  elasticity  of  limb,  that  it  excited  the  admiration 
even  of  De  Welskein.  One  of  Rory's  partners 
seemed  much  taken  with  him ;  and  after  a  certain 
jig  they  had  executed,  much  to  their  mutual  honour 
and  the  admiration  of  the  beholders,  the  fair  danseuse 
sat  beside  him  so  close,  as  not  to  admit  of  any  doubt 
that  she  rather  admired  him.  A  cessation  to  the 
dancing  now  took  place,  and  brandy-and-water  and 
niggers  ad  infinitum  was  the  order  of  the  day  —  or 
rather  the  night.  A  song  was  next  called  for  from 
the  girl  who  sat  beside  Rory ;  and  after  a  proper 
quantity  of  hemming  and  hawing,  and  protestations 
that  she  was  very  hoarse,  she  sang  with  a  good  voice, 
whose  natural  sweetness  seemed  to  have  been  ren- 
dered coarse  by  exposure  to  weather,  the  following 
song  :  — 

Oh  !  if  all  the  young  maidens  was  blackbirds  and  thrishes. 
Oh  !  if  all  the  young  maidens  was  blackbirds  and  thrishes. 
Oh  !  if  all  the  young  maidens  was  blackbirds  and  thrishes, 
It's  then  the  young  men  would  be  batin'  the  bushes. 

Oh  !  if  all  the  young  maidens  was  ducks  in  the  wather, 
Oh  !  if  all  the  young  maidens  was  ducks  in  the  wather. 
Oh  !  if  all  the  young  maidens  was  ducks  in  the  wather, 
It's  then  the  young  men  would  jump  in  and  swim  afther. 

Oh  !  if  all  the  young  maidens  was  birds  on  a  mountain. 
Oh  !  if  ail  the  young  maidens  was  birds  on  a  mountain, 
Oh  !  if  all  the  young  maidens  was  birds  on  a  mountain. 
It 's  then  the  young  men  would  get  guns  and  go  grousin'. 

If  the  maidens  was  all  throut  and  salmon  so  lively, 
If  the  maidens  was  all  throut  and  salmon  so  lively, 
If  the  maidens  was  all  throut  and  salmon  so  lively. 
Oh  !   the  divil  a  one  would  ate  mate  on  a  Friday. 


136  Rory  O'More 

Loud  applause  followed  this  charming  lyric,  during 
the  singing  of  which  the  damsel  cast  sundry  sly 
glances  at  Rory,  who  could  not  mistake  that  she  was 
making  love  to  him.  Rory  was  a  handsome  fellow, 
and  was  as  conscious  as  most  handsome  fellows  are, 
that  there  is  a  certain  readiness  on  the  part  of  the 
softer  sex  to  be  affected  by  good  looks — but  this 
rather  open  manifestation  of  it  embarrassed  him.  To 
repel  a  woman  was  what  his  nature  would  not  per- 
mit him  to  do;  yet  to  yield  to  the  species  of  tempta- 
tion that  was  offered  to  him  was  what  his  heart  for- 
bade. 

The  revel  had  proceeded  now  for  some  hours,  and 
great  licence  was  exhibited  on  the  part  of  all.  Rory's 
partner  still  clung  to  him  with  a  degree  of  seductive- 
ness that  might  have  influenced  him  at  another  time; 
but  now  the  unholy  spell  was  powerless.  He  had 
that  morning  won  the  plighted  troth  of  his  Kathleen, 
and  the  bare  thought  of  being  faithless  to  her  was 
profanation.  He  thought  of  her  sweet  song,  even  in 
defiance  of  the  scraping  of  the  tipsy  fiddler,  who  still 
stimulated  the  drunken  party  to  stagger  through  the 
dance ;  and  above  the  reeking  steams  of  punch  and 
tobacco  rose  the  sweet  odour  of  the  breath  of  the 
cows  and  the  morning  flowers  to  his  memory  :  the 
recollection  was  his  salvation. 

Oh  !  what  of  earthly  influence  can  so  fortify  the 
heart  of  man  against  the  seductions  of  vice  as  the 
love  of  a  virtuous  woman  ! 

Let  us  pursue  this  scene  no  further :  suffice  it  to 
say,  their  brutal  revelry  had  so  far  overcome  the  party, 
that  of  all  present,  Rory  O'More  and  his  partner  only 
v/ere  thoroughly  conscious  of  what  was  going  forward. 
When  Rory  saw  there  was  none  to  oppose  his  retiring, 
he  drew  the  bolt  of  the  door  to  depart :  his  tempting 
partner  made  a  last  appeal  to  induce  him  to  stay,  and 


Rory  O'More  137 


even    threw  her    arms    round    his   neck   and    kissed 
him. 

Rory's  manhood  rebelled  for  a  moment ;  but  the 
thouo-ht  of  Kathleen  came  over  him,  and  in  as  sooth- 
ing a  tone  as  he  could  command,  he  said  —  *'  Don't 
blame  me ;  I  've  a  sweetheart  that  trusts  to  me,  and 
I  must  n't  deceive  the  innocent  girl !  " 

The  words  "  innocent  girl  "  seemed  to  go  through 
the  heart  of  the  woman  like  a  pistol-shot.  She  with- 
drew her  arms  from  Ror)''s  neck,  and  hiding  her 
flushed  face  in  her  hands,  burst  into  tears,  and,  throw- 
ing herself  on  a  bench,  sobbed  as  though  her  heart 
would  break. 

Rory  looked  on  her  with  pity  ;  but,  fearing  to  trust 
himself  to  so  softening  an  influence  as  a  woman's 
weeping,  he  rushed  up  the  broken  steps  of  the  cellar, 
and  ran  down  the  narrow  alley  until  he  had  turned 
its  corner.  He  then  paused  a  moment,  to  endeavour 
to  remember  the  way  he  had  come,  which  had  been 
so  intricate,  that  under  the  exciting  circumstances  in 
which  he  had  been  led  to  the  place  and  was  leaving 
it,  it  cannot  be  wondered  his  recollection  was  rather 
misty ;  so,  taking  the  turn  which  chance  suggested 
when  he  ran  from  the  alley,  he  threaded  some  lonely 
lanes,  treading  as  stealthily  as  his  haste  would  permit ; 
—  for  an  occasional  gleam  of  light  through  a  cracked 
shutter  or  the  chink  of  a  door  betokened  that  some 
of  the  inhabitants  of  this  ill-conditioned  quarter  were 
still  watchers;  and  from  the  specimen  he  had  seen 
of  the  company  it  afforded,  he  had  no  wish  to  en- 
counter any  more  of  its  inmates.  The  sensation  of 
a  freer  atmosphere  than  that  of  the  confined  closes  he 
had  been  traversing  now  came  upon  him,  and  indi- 
cated the  vicinity  of  a  more  open  space  ;  and  facing 
the  current  of  air  that  streamed  up  the  lane,  he  soon 
arrived  in  what  appeared  to  him  to  be  the  high  street 


Rory  O'More 


of  the  town.  Here  all  was  empty,  dark,  and  silent, 
except  for  the  splashing  of  the  rain  from  the  spouts 
of  the  houses,  and  Rory  was  obliged  again  to  pause, 
for  he  knew  not  which  way  to  turn,  as  he  had  made 
his  way  from  the  alley  by  a  route  different  from  that 
by  which  he  entered,  and  he  was  consequently  in  a 
street  he  had  never  seen  before,  in  a  town  to  which 
he  was  a  stranger. 

He  stood  for  some  minutes,  unmindful  of  the  tor- 
rent of  rain  that  was  falling,  quite  absorbed  in  the 
consideration  of  what  he  should  do.  It  was  late,  and 
he  doubted  whether  at  such  an  hour  he  would  be 
likely  to  get  admittance  to  a  place  of  abode  for  the 
night ;  besides,  he  did  not  know  where  to  find  it ;  and 
it  struck  him  that  the  only  course  left  him  was  to 
make  the  best  of  his  way  out  of  the  town,  and  pro- 
ceed homewards.  This,  to  be  sure,  was  a  heavy 
task  to  impose  on  himself,  for  he  had  not  taken  any 
rest  since  he  left  his  own  house ;  he  had  traversed  a 
considerable  tract  of  country,  and  to  go  over  the 
same  ground  again  without  the  intervention  of  sleep 
was  what  even  so  active  a  fellow  as  Rory  O'More 
did  not  relish  the  contemplation  of.  Therefore  the 
decision  he  came  to  at  last  was,  to  leave  the  matter 
to  chance ;  —  if  in  his  passage  through  the  town  he 
saw  any  place  that  promised  him  shelter,  to  ask  for 
it ;  and  if  not,  to  start  direct  for  home. 

His  resolve  being  taken,  he  wrapped  his  frieze-coat 
about  him  —  for  he  now  noticed  that  it  did  rain 
rather  heavily  —  and  walked  at  a  smart  pace  up  the 
length  of  street  that  lay  before  him.  He  had  not 
proceeded  far  when  the  fall  of  many  footsteps  at- 
tracted his  attention ;  and  from  the  heavy  and 
measured  tread,  it  was  plain  that  a  party  of  soldiers 
was  in  his  neighbourhood.  He  stopped  and  held  his 
breath  j  the  party  was   evidently  getting  nearer ;  he 


Rory  0' More  139 

had  no  right  to  be  abroad  at  that  hour,  for  the  curfew 
law  had  been  revived  of  late.  He  thought  of  the 
letter  he  had  in  his  possession,  and  death  to  himself, 
and  discovery  of  the  plot  flashed  upon  his  imagina- 
tion. To  tear  the  letter  suggested  itself  to  him  ;  but 
then,  it  might  contain  intelligence  of  importance  :  to 
preserve  it  therefore  was  desirable  ;  yet  to  have  it 
found,  destruction.     What  was  to  be  done  ? 

Listening  intensely  to  ascertain  the  quarter  whence 
the  footsteps  approached,  he  was  soon  sensible  that 
the  party  advanced  from  the  point  towards  which  he 
was  moving  :  therefore,  trusting  to  the  darkness  of 
the  night  and  the  lightness  of  his  heels,  Rory  turned 
about,  and  with  that  peculiar  agility  of  step  so  char- 
acteristic of  his  countrymen,  he  ran  lightly  down  the 
street.  As  he  advanced  towards  the  end  of  it,  he 
perceived  there  was  a  wider  space  beyond  it ;  and 
knowing  the  shade  of  the  houses  favoured  his  escape, 
and  still  hearing  the  footsteps  following  him,  he 
dreaded  that  the  moment  he  should  emerge  from  the 
street  into  the  open  space,  he  should  be  seen.  While 
this  thought  occurred  to  him,  he  perceived,  a  few 
steps  in  advance  of  him,  a  large  old-fashioned  pro- 
jecting porch,  whose  clumsy  columns  and  deep  recess 
suggested  at  once  the  idea  of  concealment  :  so,  turn- 
ing sharply  up  two  or  three  steps,  he  became  en- 
sconced in  the  door-way,  drawing  himself  up  closely 
behind  one  of  the  columns. 

As  the  footsteps  advanced,  Rory  could  hear  the 
rattling  of  fire-arms  mingling  with  the  heavy  tramp 
of  the  men.  His  anxiety  was  at  its  height  when  he 
saw  the  party  just  before  the  door  :  "  Another  in- 
stant," thought  he,  "  and  the  danger  's  past !  "  when, 
to  his  consternation,  the  sudden  exclamation  of 
"  Halt !  "  brought  the  file  of  men  to  a  dead  stand- 
still  within  a  few  feet  of  his  place  of  concealment. 


I40  Rory  O'More 

He  now  thought  it  was  all  over  with  him  :  he  ex- 
pected to  be  dragged  from  his  hiding-place  every 
instant,  brought  before  the  military  authorities,  and 
the  letter  he  bore  about  him  being  inevitably  found, 
hanged  at  the  drum-head  for  a  rebel.  He  heard 
some  mysterious  mutterings  of  the  corporal,  and 
immediately  after,  the  clattering  of  a  couple  of 
bayonets,  —  he  fancied  them  already  in  his  body. 
But  still  he  remained  unmolested,  though  the  file  of 
men  yet  stood  before  him  :  —  Rory  scarcely  dared  to 
respire. 

It  happened  that  this  house,  within  whose  porch 
he  had  taken  refuge,  was  inhabited  by  the  colonel  of 
the  regiment  then  quartered  in  the  town.  It  stood 
at  the  corner  of  an  open  and  irregular  space,  called 
"  the  Green,"  where  some  houses  were  scattered 
round  a  piece  of  dirty  grass,  and  geese  and  pigs  used 
to  promenade  during  the  day,  and  the  belles  of  the 
town  in  the  evening,  to  hear  the  band  play,  and  let 
the  officers  stare  them  out  of  countenance.  The  bar- 
rack lay  at  the  upper  end  of  the  street ;  but  the  quar- 
ters were  so  indifferent,  that  the  colonel  preferred 
taking  up  his  residence  in  this  house,  which  was  re- 
moved from  the  barrack,  it  is  true ;  but,  to  increase 
his  security,  which  the  suspicious  nature  of  the  times 
rendered  it  necessary,  in  his  opinion,  to  look  after,  he 
had  two  sentinels  stationed  there,  conducing  not 
only  to  his  safety,  but  to  his  consequence,  of  which 
the  colonel  was  not  a  little  vain.  The  narrowness 
of  the  foot-way  before  the  house  would  have  rendered 
sentry-boxes  inconvenient  in  front,  —  therefore  they 
were  placed  round  the  corner  ;  and  it  was  while  the 
corporal  was  employed  in  relieving  the  guard  at  the 
flank  of  the  house,  that  the  file  of  soldiers  remained 
before  the  porch. 

This  was  for  some  minutes  —  for  every  body  knows 


Rory  O'More  141 

that  such  matters  must  be  conducted  with  that  system 
and  solemnity  so  necessary  to  the  good  of  the  service. 

To  relieve  the  guard  the  corporal  marches  up  one 
of  his  men  to  face  the  sentinel  on  duty.  These  two 
make  a  rattle  with  their  firelocks  and  hold  them  in  a 
transverse  position,  which  looks  pretty ;  then  they 
advance  to  each  other  with  two  long  strides,  and 
stick  their  faces  close  together,  to  the  manifest  danger 
of  flattening  their  noses,  the  corporal  standing  by  all 
the  time,  as  if  to  see  that  they  should  not  bite  each 
other  :  another  slap  on  their  firelocks  to  rattle  them  ; 
then  the  new-comer  goes  over  to  the  sentrj-box,  and 
the  other  takes  his  place  :  then  the  corporal  utters 
some  mysterious  grumblings  —  such  as  "  Haw  !  " 
"  Who  !  "  the  men  throw  their  transverse  muskets 
upon  their  arms,  as  if  they  were  going  to  nurse  them  : 
another  grunt  from  the  corporal  —  the  relieved  sen- 
tinel joins  the  main  body,  the  corporal  puts  himself  at 
their  head,  gives  another  mysterious  growl,  and  tramp, 
tramp,  thev  go,  again  to  perform  the  same  interesting 
and  intellectual  ceremony  at  another  sentr)'-box,  until, 
having  finished  his  rounds,  the  corporal  marches  back 
into  the  guard-house  twelve  wet  men,  in  lieu  of  twelve 
dry  ones  that  he  took  out. 

While  all  this  "  pomp  and  circumstance  of  glorious 
war"  was  going  forward,  Rory  was  in  agony.  No 
image  is  sufficient  to  express  the  state  of  excitement 
his  impatient  nature  underwent  during  the  interval 
which  he  thought  an  age :  a  bee  in  a  bottle,  a  school- 
boy in  his  master's  apple-tree,  or  a  hen  on  a  hot  grid- 
dle, are  but  faint  figures  of  speech  for  the  purpose. 
Well  was  it  for  Rory  that  the  rain  continued  to  fall 
so  copiously !  —  the  soldiers  buried  their  faces  deeply 
inside  the  collars  of  their  coats,  and  cast  not  a  glance 
towards  the  porch.  Thus,  the  very  inclemency  of  the 
night  was  propitious  to  the  refugee,  who  was  startled 


142  Rory  O'More 


once  more,  however,  for  a  moment,  by  the  return  of 
the  corporal,  which  caused  a  movement  amongst  the 
men.  "  They  see  me  now,"  thought  Rory  to  him- 
self, and  his  heart  sunk  when  he  heard  the  words 
"Fall  in." 

"  Oh,  murdher  !  "  thought  Rory  :  "  if  they  come 
in,  I  'm  lost." 

They  did  not  "  come  in,"  however,  and  after  an- 
other growl  from  the  corporal,  which  was  unintelligi- 
ble, the  blessed  sound  of  "  March !  "  fell  on  Rory's 
ear  with  something  of  the  same  sensation  that  the 
announcement  of  a  reprieve  produces  on  a  prisoner 
in  the  condemned  cell  ;  and  he  saw  the  file  execute  a 
"  right-about-face,"  and  go  the  way  whence  they 
came.  Every  successive  tramp  that  increased  the 
distance  between  Rory  and  the  soldiers  took  a  ton 
weight  off  his  heart,  and  as  the  receding  footsteps  of 
the  men  faded  into  distance  he  breathed  freely  again. 

As  soon  as  the  silence  was  perfectly  restored,  Rory 
thought  of  emerging  from  his  place  of  retreat.  Had 
he  been  a  person  conversant  with  the  relieving  of 
guards,  he  would  have  guessed  that  some  such  matter 
must  have  been  the  cause  of  the  scene  just  recorded  ; 
but  living  a  rural  life,  as  he  did,  such  martial  mysteries 
were  unknown  to  him,  and  while  he  congratulated 
himself  on  being  free  from  danger  and  contemplated 
a  retreat,  he  little  dreamt  that  at  the  flank  of  the 
house  under  whose  porch  he  stood,  a  pair  of  sentinels 
were  on  guard.  So,  when  there  was  no  sound  to  in- 
dicate that  any  one  save  himself  was  on  the  watch 
(for,  it  being  still  raining,  the  sentries  on  the  flank 
kept  most  religiously  bound  within  their  sentry-boxes 
—  and  small  blame  to  them!),  Rory  thought  he  had 
better  be  off,  and  ventured  to  withdraw  his  body  from 
the  small  space  between  the  column  and  the  wall  into 
which  he  had  miraculously  jammed  himself:  but  in 


Rory  O'More  143 

the  doing  of  this,  he  was  obliged,  as  it  were,  to  jerk 
himself  out,  and  by  some  unlucky  chance,  either  in 
getting  himself  in  or  out,  the  cape  of  his  coat  caught 
in  a  bell-pull,  and  in  the  effort  to  free  himself  he  felt 
that  he  was  laid  hold  of  by  the  shoulder,  and  heard  at 
the  same  instant  of  time  the  sound  of  a  bell.  Those 
who  have  felt  what  it  is  to  be  in  nervous  situations 
will  not  wonder  that  Rory's  heart  jumped  as  he  felt 
himself  caught,  and  heard  at  the  same  moment  a 
sound  whose  very  purpose  is  to  awake  attention. 
And  it  was  such  a  bell ;  —  none  of  your  trifling  tink- 
lers, none  of  your  little  whipper-snapper  sort  of  bells; 
not  like  the  bark  of  a  Blenheim,  but  the  bay  of  a 
watch-dog  ;  not  like  a  muffin-merchant's,  but  a  dust- 
man's ;  not  merely  made  to  call  Molly  up  stairs,  — 
but  one  of  your  deep-mouthed  devils,  doomed  to 
destroy  the  repose  of  half  a  street ;  —  in  short, 

a  dreadful  bell, 


To  fright  the  isle  from  its  propriety. " 

Rory  stood  aghast !  Had  the  metal  that  composed 
this  "  infernal  machine  "  been  molten  and  cast  down 
his  throat,  it  could  not  have  astonished  him  more : 
besides,  it  seemed  as  if  it  would  never  have  done 
ringing.  We  hear  great  complaints  in  our  days  of 
bell-hangers  ;  but  those  of  old,  to  judge  from  the 
case  in  question,  must  have  been  prime  hands, —  for 
on  it  went,  ding,  ding,  ding,  as  if  it  really  had  a 
pleasure  in  ringing.  Whether  it  was  the  specific 
gravity  of  the  monster  that  produced  so  much  vivacity 
in  the  spring  on  which  it  was  suspended,  or  the  su- 
perior skill  of  former  bell-hangers,  may  remain  a 
matter  of  dispute  to  the  curious  •,  but  the  fact  that 
resulted  (and  facts  are  all  we  have  to  do  with)  is, 
that  ere  the  bell  had  ceased  its  villainous  vibrations, 
Rory  heard  a  window  raised  above  his  head,  and  the 


144  Rory  O'More 


demand    of  "Who's   there?"    in   no  very   gracious 
voice. 

Rory  kept  profoundly  quiet. 
"Who's  there?"  was  again  snarled  out. 
Rory  looked  up  from  the  shelter  of  the  porch  and 
saw  a  head  and  a  nightcap  protruded  from  the  win- 
dow:  he  was  as  quiet  as  a  mouse. 

"  Sentry  !  "  was  the  next  word  Rory  heard,  given 
in  a   most  authoritative  tone. 

A  gust  of  wind  and  a  dash  of  rain  whirled  round 
the  corner,  which  must  have  convinced  the  colonel 
(for  it  was  he  who  was  calling  from  the  window)  that 
his  voice  could  not  have  reached  the  sentinels  in  the 
teeth  of  the  blast  which  blew  his  nightcap  off  his  head 
and  dashed  it  into  Rory's  face. 

Rory  was  nearly  knocked  down,  —  for  the  smallest 
thing  upsets  us  when  we  are  alarmed. 

"  Sentry  !  "  was  shouted  louder  than  before. 
The  soldiers  answered  the  summons.     The  colonel 
asked  who  rang  the  bell  :  — the  sentries  did  not  know. 
"  You  have  been  asleep  !  "  said  the  colonel. 
"  No,  your  honour,"  said  the  sentry,  "  we  could  n't ; 
the  guard  has  been  but  just  relieved  !  " 
"  Have  you  seen  no  one  passing  ?  " 
"  No,  your  honour,  —  no  one  passed  at  this  side ; 
and   we    marched    down    the    other    street    not    five 
minutes  ago  and  not  a  living  soul  was  in  it." 
"  Then  what  could  have  rung  the  bell  ?  " 
"  'T  was  only  a  mistake,  sir,"  said   Rory,  whose 
excitement  had  been   wound  to  such  intensity,  that 
his  eagerness  to  satisfy  the  question  overlooked  the 
consequence  to  his  personal  safety  in  the  sound  of 
his  voice  being  heard  ;  but  the  instant  he  had  spoken, 
he  said  to  himself,  "  The  d — 1  cut  the  tongue  out  of 
you,  Rory  !  " 

Fortunately  the  gusts  of  wind  and  splashing  of  rain 


Rory  O'More  145 

rendered  all  sounds,  and  the  points  whence  they  came, 
uncertain.  Nevertheless,  the  colonel  looked  towards 
the  porch  ;  but  seeing  no  one,  he  said  to  the  sentry, 
"  What 's  that  you  say  about  a  mistake  ?  " 

"  No,  your  honour,  I  don't  mistake,"  said  the 
sentr)^,  who  was  equally  uncertain  with  the  colonel  if 
any  third  person  had  spoken,  and  fancied  he  had  been 
charged  with  making  a  mistake. 

"  Did  n't  you  say  something  of  a  mistake  ?  "  asked 
the  colonel  in  one  of  the  pauses  of  the  storm. 

"  No,  your  honour,"  said  the  sentry. 

Just  at  this  moment,  when  Rory  was  thinking  if 
he  had  n't  better  make  a  run  for  it  at  once,  he  heard 
the  bolt  of  the  door  behind  him  gently  drawn,  and  the 
instant  after,  a  pluck  at  his  coat,  and  a  whispered 
"  Come  in,"  made  him  turn  round.  He  saw  the  door 
stand  ajar,  and  a  hand  beckon  him  forward,  at  the 
same  moment  that  the  voice  of  the  colonel  from 
the  window  said,  "  See  if  there  's  any  one  hiding  in 
the  porch." 

Rory  slipped  inside  the  hall-door,  which  was  softly 
closed  as  the  sentry  walked  up  the  steps. 

"  There 's  no  one  here,  your  honour,"  said  the 
sentry. 

"  Push  the  door,"  said  the  colonel. 

The  sentry  did  so ;  but  the  door  had  been  fastened 
on  the  inside. 


VOL.  I.  — 10 


CHAPTER   XI 

SHOWING  THAT  ONE  HALF  OF  THE  WORLD  DOES 
NOT  KNOW  HOW  THE  OTHER  HALF  LIVES  ;  AND 
ALSO,  THAT  SOFT  WORDS  CAN  BEND  HARD  IRON, 
THOUGH    THEY    DO    NOT    BUTTER    PARSNIPS 

VERY  much  about  the  time  that  Rory  O'More 
rushed  from  the  cellar  and  endeavoured  to 
make  his  way  out  of  the  town,  there  was  an  old 
tinker,  driving  an  ass  before  him,  making  his  way  into 
it.  From  the  rudely  constructed  straddle  of  the  sorry 
animal,  three  or  four  rusty  old  kettles,  and  a  budget 
containing  the  implements  of  the  tinker's  trade,  de- 
pended ;  but  the  straddle  was  worth  more  than  it 
looked  good  for,  —  for  the  tinker  had  so  contrived 
the  pannels  of  the  lumbering  affair,  that  a  convenient 
space  was  left  within  for  stowing  away  tobacco, 
which  he  bought  from  Monsieur  De  Welskein,  and 
sold  at  a  handsome  profit  to  the  peasantry,  during  his 
wandering  among  them  —  for  they  could  get  none  so 
good  or  so  cheap  through  the  legitimate  channel : 
besides,  they  were  glad  to  give  a  helping  hand  to  the 
old  tinker,  whose  poverty  and  shrewdness  commanded 
at  once  their  pity  and  their  fear. 

It  may  seem  strange  to  class  these  two  feelings 
together  —  but  they  often  exist.  They  say  "Pity  is 
akin  to  love ;  "  —  but  it  is  equally  true  that  "  Love  is 
related  to  fear  :  "  — and  thus,  perhaps,  a  sort  of  col- 
lateral relationship  may  be  established  between  them. 

I  should  not  have  made  any  observation  on  this. 


Rory  O'More  i^y 

but  that  I  do  not  remember  seeing  it  remarked  else- 
where, and  when  one  advances  any  thing  new,  it  is 
common  even  to  oneself  to  be  startled  at  it,  and  a 
desire  is  at  once  engendered  to  make  it  manifest  that 
one  has  not  committed  an  absurdity. 

Now,  I  remember  well,  when  a  child,  that  I  was 
often  horrified  by  the  presence  of  a  certain  old  and 
disgusting  beggarman  ;  yet  I  constantly  gave  him 
alms.  There  was  something  in  that  old  man  I 
dreaded ;  and  yet  I  remember,  even  to  this  day,  I 
pitied  him.  To  be  sure,  the  virtue  of  charity  had 
been  early  instilled  into  my  mind  by  one  who  now,  I 
trust,  in  heaven  enjoys  the  reward  of  her  goodness  j 
and  so  gracious  and  winning  is  the  habit  of  doing 
charity's  holy  offices,  that  even  to  the  innocent  child, 
on  whom  neither  want  nor  reason  can  have  impressed 
the  value  of  the  virtue  he  is  taught,  there  is  something 
pleasant  in  the  timorous  dropping  of  a  halfpenny  from 
its  pure  and  dimpled  fingers  into  the  soiled  and 
withered  palm  of  age  :  as  if  Heaven  had  preordained 
that  no  weakness  or  antipathy  of  our  nature  should 
interfere  with  the  sacred  duty  ;  —  a  duty  so  sacred, 
that  even  our  Lord  himself  made  its  beauty  the  theme 
of  a  parable,  and  reproved  the  intolerant  Jew  with 
the  mild   precept  of  "  Go  thou  and   do   likewise," 

Solomon,  for  that  was  the  tinker's  name,  was  pitied 
and  feared  ;  for  he  seemed  to  be  poor,  and  was  known 
to  be  penetrating.  He  had  a  prying  temper  and  a 
tenacious  memory.  The  former  led  him  to  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  circumstances  of  most  of  the  people  of 
all  classes  in  the  country  where  he  made  his  rounds, 
and  the  latter  treasured  up  the  information.  Thus 
the  past  and  present  were  alike  familiar  to  him  ;  and 
from  these,  his  natural  acutcnesswas  often  enabled  to 
presage  the  future. 

Such    a    power,   in    the   uncalculating    community 


148  Rory  O'More 

amongst  whom  he  moved,  gave  him  a  reputation  little 
short  of  vi^itchcraft.  He  was  called  "a  mighty- 
knowledgeable  man,"  —  and  "  knowledge  is  power  ;  " 
and  where  did  human  power  ever  exist,  that  its  in- 
fluence has  not  been  dreaded  and  its  possession  abused  ? 
This  was  fully  exemplified  in  the  case  of  the  old 
tinker,  —  he  was  feared,  not  loved,  by  the  peasantry  ; 
and  yet,  though  no  one  liked  him,  there  was,  from  a 
dread  of  offending,  all  the  demonstrations  of  civility 
shown  him  that  love  would  have  procured.  The 
tinker  was  quite  aware  of  the  position  he  held,  and 
of  its  cause  ;  and  his  bitterness  (for  he  was  bitter) 
enjoyed  the  triumph  of  forcing  these  pretended  testi- 
monies of  affection,  and  he  laughed  at  this  perjury  of 
the  heart.  "  Hypocrisy  is  the  homage  that  vice  pays 
to  virtue."  How  often  is  a  smile  the  tribute  that 
fear  pays  to  power  ! 

Nevertheless,  with  this  dread  —  it  may  almost  be 
said,  dislike  —  that  he  inspired,  he  was  pitied,  from 
his  apparent  wretched  and  desolate  condition.  Home 
he  had  none,  nor  living  thing  with  whom  he  held 
continued  companionship,  except  the  poor  ass  he 
drove,  whose  food  was  a  nibble  from  the  road-side, 
unless  when  it  was  bestowed  by  the  same  friendly 
hand  that  gave  food  to  his  master  —  for  Solomon 
never  paid  for  any  thing  except  what  he  traded  on. 
The  love  of  money  ruled  him  with  a  power  stronger 
than  that  by  which  he  ruled  his  fellow  men ;  and 
though  he  possessed  the  superior  acuteness  that  gov- 
erned intelligent  creatures,  he  was  himself  the  sense- 
less slave  of  an  inanimate  metal.  He  was  a  miser, 
—  a  miser  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word ;  not  lov- 
ing money  for  the  sake  of  what  money  can  procure, 
but  loving  it  for  its  own  sake  —  worshipping  the 
mere  thing  :  to  him  a  guinea  was  a  god.  To  such  a 
wretch,  to  starve  was  easier  than  to  pay ;  therefore 


Rory  O'More  149 

he  never  tasted  food  except  it  was  given  to  him  :  and 
even  on  these  terms  he  seldom  wanted,  for  he  laid 
the  country  under  contribution,  from  the  kitchen  of 
the  squire  to  the  peasant's  pot  of  potatoes.  With  all 
this,  he  was  stealthy  and  roguish  as  a  fox,  tortuous 
and  treacherous  as  a  snake  —  secret,  cold,  and  greedy 
as  the  grave. 

Yet,  with  the  characteristic  touch  of  fun  that  per- 
vades every  thing  Irish,  this  hateful  old  miscreant  had 
a  comical  name  bestowed  on  him  ;  —  he  was  called 
"  Sawdhering  Solomon,"  from  his  profession  of  tinker  : 
and  this  was  the  name  he  commonly  went  by, 
though  sometimes  it  was  changed  for  "Solomon  Sly." 
Neither  of  these  names  was  meant,  of  course,  to 
reach  his  ears ;  but  he  was  made  cognisant  of  them 
by  means  of  the  little  boys,  who  hated  him  openly, 
and  who  shouted  the  name  after  him  when  they  were 
quite  sure  of  being  out  of  the  reach  of  the  old  tinker's 
crooked  stick  :  and  sometimes  the  urchins  ventured 
so  far  even  as  to  throw  stones  or  clods  at  him  when 
they  had  the  ambuscade  of  a  hedge  and  the  interven- 
tion of  a  ditch  to  screen  and  protect  them.  On  these 
occasions,  Solomon  might  get  a  whack  on  the  back 
from  a  stone,  or  have  a  dry  clod  judiciously  lobbed 
under  his  ear,  powdering  his  wig  with  all  the  breaking 
particles  of  earth  that  did  not  run  down  between  his 
clothes  and  his  back.  Then  would  he  turn  round  to 
strike  with  his  stick  ;  but  the  retiring  laugh  and  foot- 
steps of  children  at  the  other  side  of  the  hedge,  were 
all  that  were  manifest  to  Solomon  :  and  then  would 
the  old  vagabond  grin  and  shake  his  stick  with  the 
expression  of  a  fiend,  and  utter  horrible  curses  on  the 
thoughtless  urchins.  And  though  the  provocation 
was  unjustifiable,  it  is  true,  yet  there  is  something 
abhorrent  in  the  idea  of  age  cursing  childhood,  par- 
ticularly as  the  vindictive  old  tinker  used  to  curse. 


150  Rory  O'More 

It  was  about  the  time  that  Rory  O'More  was  leav- 
ing the  cellar,  that  Solomon,  I  say,  was  making  his 
way  into  the  town,  at  whose  outskirts  he  made  a 
detour  from  the  high  road  and  drove  his  ass  up  a  little 
lane,  at  the  end  of  which  there  was  a  small  haggart^ 
whose  fence  was  only  a  low  wall  of  loose  stones  and 
some  furze-bushes.  Solomon  very  coolly  abstracted 
some  stones,  pulled  away  some  of  the  furze,  and 
made  a  way  for  his  ass  to  enter  the  haggart,  where, 
placing  him  between  two  small  stacks  of  hay,  he 
procured  shelter  and  provender  for  the  poor  brute. 
He  then  lifted  the  straddle  and  his  old  kettles  from 
the  ass's  back,  and  withdrew  from  the  premises, 
carrying  his  goods  to  some  distance,  where,  under  a 
hedge,  he  let  them  lie ;  and  marking  the  spot  well, 
he  proceeded  alone  to  the  town,  and  made  for  the 
cellar  of  the  smuggler. 

It  was  only  in  his  capacity  of  smuggler  that  De 
Welskein  held  any  communication  with  the  tinker. 
Solomon,  though  he  guessed  that  an  extensive  con- 
spiracy was  on  foot,  yet,  wise  as  he  was,  he  did  not 
know  any  individual  engaged  in  it,  for  none  would 
trust  him  to  belong  to  the  Union,  and  those  who 
engaged  in  it  kept  the  secret  inviolate,  —  singularly 
so  indeed,  for  in  all  the  thousands  who  had  sworn, 
there  was  but  one  found  to  betray,  and  he  entered 
the  confederation   for  the   very   purpose. 

When  the  unfortunate  girl  whom  Rory  had  left 
sobbing  in  the  cellar  had  recovered  her  outbreak  of 
grief,  she  arose  from  the  bench  on  which  she  had 
flung  herself  in  her  passion  of  tears,  and  the  feeling 
that  had  possessed  her  heart  changed  from  lawless 
love   to   bitter  hate — for 

"  Hell  has  no  fury  like  a  woman  scorn'd  j  " 
1  Hay-yard. 


Rory  O'More  151 

and  cursing  the  man  that  had  made  her  feel  such 
degradation,  she  quitted  the  den  of  riot  and  iniquity, 
leaving  the  beastly  revellers  sunk  in  besotted  slumber. 
When  Solomon,  therefore,  reached  the  cellar  and 
tapped  stealthily  at  the  door,  he  received  no  answer. 
On  knocking  again  more  loudly,  the  door  yielded  to 
his  touch,  and  pushing  it  gently  open,  he  looked  cau- 
tiously into  the  cellar.  He  saw  a  dim  lamp,  over- 
turned drinking-vessels,  and  prostrate  figures,  and 
heard  the  heavy  snoring  of  drunken  sleep.  He  ad- 
vanced noiselessly,  and  looked  carefully  about ;  and 
when  he  found  that  deep  and  real  slumber  reigned 
around  him,  he  cast  about  his  searching  eyes,  and  his 
heart  (if  he  had  such  a  thing)  was  gladdened  at  the 
thought  of  being  a  gainer  by  the  universal  swinishness 
in  which  his  friends  were  buried.  He  stole  softly 
over  to  the  truckle-bed  under  which  the  tobacco  was 
hid,  and  going  on  all-fours,  he  looked  to  see  if  there 
was  a  roll  of  it  within  easy  reach  —  for  the  legs  of 
one  of  the  sleepers  hung  over  the  side  and  made  a 
sort  of  barrier. 

He  crawled  nearer,  and,  with  the  aid  of  his  crooked 
stick  abstracted  a  parcel  of  the  precious  weed  from  its 
place  of  concealment :  and  then,  with  the  stealthi- 
ness  of  a  cat,  he  stole  back  to  the  door,  which  he 
closed  gently  after  him,  and  retreated  with  his  booty. 

Now,  it  was  to  buy  tobacco  that  the  tinker  had 
made  his  visit  to  De  Welskein  ;  and  he  chuckled  at 
the  thought  of  getting  the  merchandise  without  the 
transfer  of  coin,  and  hugged  the  roll  of  tobacco  to 
his  heart  with  the  passion  of  a  lover.  To  re-cram 
the  pannel  of  his  ass's  straddle,  and  depart  after  his 
exploit,  was  Solomon's  first  intention  as  he  sneaked 
back  towards  the  haggart  where  his  ass  was  commit- 
ting robbery  also :  but  another  idea  arose,  and  he 
slackened    his    pace  while    he    conned    it  over,  and 


152  Rory  O^More 

on  second  thoughts  he  considered  it  more  advisable 
to  make  his  visit  to  De  Welskein,  as  it  w^as  about 
the  period  that  w^orthy  knew^  he  had  intended  calling, 
and  if  the  abstracted  tobacco  should  be  missed,  his 
unusual  absence  might  direct  suspicion  against  him, 
as  it  was  some  time  since  Solomon  had  made  a  pur- 
chase, and  De  Welskein  knew  that  tobacco  was 
what  Solomon  could  not  do  without.  Therefore, 
instead  of  going  back  to  the  haggart,  he  went  to 
a  neighbouring  lane  where  he  knew  the  forge  of 
a  blacksmith  stood,  and  poking  and  scraping  out 
with  his  stick  and  hands  a  hole  out  of  a  heap  of 
cinders  and  ashes  that  stood  near  the  door,  he  con- 
cealed the  treasure  beneath  it  and  returned  to  the 
cellar.  He  knocked  again,  lest  any  of  its  inmates 
might  have  awoke  in  the  interval ;  and  finding  all 
as  silent  as  before,  he  entered,  and  approaching  De 
Welskein,  he  shook  him  by  the  shoulder  till  he 
roused  him,  and  said,  — 

"  One  ud  think  you  had  nothing  to  be  afeard  iv, 
when  you  sleep  with  the  door  open." 

De  Welskein  rubbed  his  eyes,  stared  up  at  Solo- 
mon, uttered  a  great  many  "  Sacres"  and  "  Diables" 
and  proceeded  to  awake  the  rest  of  the  party  and 
demand  the  cause  of  the  door  being  open.  They 
were  all  bewildered,  being  still  half  drunk  ;  but  after 
much  blustering  and  swearing,  Rory  O'More  at  last 
was  missed,  and  also  the  girl  with  whom  he  had 
been  dancing.  This  was  conclusive  evidence  of  how 
the  circumstance  had  occurred,  and  De  Welskein's 
rage  and  abuse  of  Rory  were  furious.  Regan,  too, 
threw  in  his  word  of  censure ;  and,  amongst  them 
all,  poor  Rory  had  more  foul  words  applied  to  him 
than  he  ever  had  before  in  the  same  space  of  time. 

"Who  is  that  you're  blessin',  all  o'  yiz  ?  "  said 
Solomon. 


Rory  O'More  153 

"That  scatthered-brained  swaggerer  Rory  O'More," 
said  Regan. 

"  Rory  O'More  !  "  said  Solomon,  who  knew  Rorv's 
habits  were  not  likely  to  lead  him  into  the  disorderly 
set;  —  *' why,  what  brought  him  here?"  and  he 
looked  sharply  at  De  Welskein,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"There's  a  mvster\\" 

"  Why,  sare  ?  if  you  go  for  dat  moche,  what  for 
you  come   here  ?  —  ha !  " 

"  Oh,  you  know  yourself,  munseer,"  said  Solomon, 
"what  brings  me  here;  but, " 

"  Well,  sare,"  said  De  Welskein,  interrupting  him, 
"  and  me  know  whas  bring  de  osser  gentlemans  too  : 
das  nulF  for  me  — nussing  to  you." 

"Oh,  don't  be  onaisy,"  said  Solomon  coolly — "  I 
don't  want  to  smoke  your  saycrets." 

"  No,  G —  d — n  !  you  old  rog  !  you  not  smok  me, 
you  razzer  smok  my  tabac." 

Solomon  looked  towards  the  Frenchman,  to  see  if 
there  was  any  meaning  in  his  eye  when  he  spoke  of 
his  tobacco ;  but  he  saw  his  secret  was  safe.  The 
Frenchman  proceeded,  — 

*'  Dere  !  you  sect  down  you  —  old  rog  —  vieux 
chaudronnier  de  campagne — sect  down,  smoke  your 
tabac  and  dreenk,  and  nebber  mind  nussing  else  !  " 

Solomon  did  as  he  was  desired ;  he  took  a  pipe 
and  mixed  a  stiff  glass  of  brandv-and-water,  after 
tossing  off  a  couple  of  glasses  pure,  to  warm  his 
heart,  as  he  said  himself,  "  afther  the  cruel  wcttin' 
he  got." 

"Warm  his  heart  indeed!"  said  one  of  the  men 
aside:  "'faith,  all  the  sper'ts  in  Ireland,  and  all  the 
turf  in  the  Bog  of  Allen,  would  n't  warm  it." 

De  Welskein  took  Regan  aside,  and  expressed 
great  displeasure  against  Rory  for  leaving  him  with- 
out saying  where  De   Lacy   was  to   be   found  ;  but 


154  Rory  0' More 

Regan  set  him  at  rest  on  that  subject  by  telling  him 
he  knew  Roiy's  place  of  abode,  and  would  conduct 
him  to  it  if  he  liked.  This  consoled  the  Frenchman 
and  he  again  lay  down  to  sleep,  requesting  more  care 
might  be  taken  about  the  door.  Solomon  continued 
to  smoke  and  drink  until  the  approach  of  dawn,  when 
the  man  called  Pierre  let  him  out  of  the  cellar,  and 
he  went  back  to  the  haggart,  having  made  the  best 
bargain  he  could  for  some  tobacco,  and  getting  his 
pocket-pistol,  as  he  called  a  tolerably  capacious  tin 
flask,  filled  with  brandy  as  a  bonus  for  his  "  taking 
sitch  a  power  o*  tahakky  from  them^''  as  he  said  him- 
self; and  the  equivoke  gave  poignancy  to  the 
pleasure  of  his  theft. 

When  he  got  back  to  the  haggart,  he  abstracted 
his  ass  from  the  haystack,  which  the  ass  seemed  loath 
to  quit,  and  before  retiring,  the  little  beast  made  a  last 
desperate  plunge  into  the  hay,  and  dragged  away 
so  large  a  mouthful,  that  it  trailed  after  him  all  the 
way  from  the  stack  to  the  gap  where  Solomon  now 
led  him  out,  and  the  poor  innocent  haystack  looked 
very  much  in  the  condition  of  a  hot  loaf  out  of  which 
Master  Tommy  has  had  his  wicked  will. 

Solomon  replaced  the  stones  and  the  furze-bush, 
and  led  off  his  ass  to  the  hedge  where  the  straddle 
was  secreted  :  there  he  stuffed  it  with  the  purchased 
tobacco  (the  stolen  roll  still  lay  where  the  tinker  had 
concealed  it),  and  mounting  his  wallet  and  his  kettles 
on  the  back  of  the  ass,  he  drove  him  away  from  the 
field  as  soon  as  sunrise  permitted  him  lawfully  to 
appear  on  the  road. 

What  did  he  do  then  ? 

He  had  the  impudence  to  march  up  the  lane  that 
led  to  the  haggart,  driving  his  ass  before  him  and 
crying  loudly,  "  Pots,  pans,  and  kittles  to  mind." 
The  ass  turned  a  longing  look  towards  the  haggart, 


Rory  O'More  155 


and  a  whack  from  Solomon's  stick  was  required  to 
remind  him  that  tinkers'  asses  must  not  eat  hay  by- 
daylight.  Solomon  now  approached  the  dwelling  to 
which  the  plundered  haggart  was  attached,  and  found 
the  family  awake  and  doing  :  the  man  went  out  to 
work,  and  the  woman,  in  answer  to  Solomon's  re- 
quest to  know  "  if  there  was  any  pots,  pans,  and 
kittles  to  mind,"  produced  a  certain  tin  saucepan, 
with  a  demand  to  know  "  what  would  he  take  to 
repair  it?  not  that  it  wanted  it  much,"  she  said, 
*'  only,  divil  take  it !  it  put  out  the  fire  always  when 
it  was  put  on,  but  did  n't  lah  a  great  dale  at  all." 

"  Why,  tare  an'  ouns,  woman,"  cried  Solomon, 
holding  up  the  vessel  between  him  and  the  sky, 
"  there 's  a  hole  in  it  you  could  dhrive  a  coach 
thro'.  " 

"  Arrah,  be  aisy  !  "   says  the  woman. 

"  Look  at  it  yourself,"  says  Solomon,  letting  the 
saucepan  down. 

A  little  child  now  popped  his  finger  through  the 
hole,  and  waggling  it  backwards  and  forwards,  said, 
"  Look,  mammy  !  "  and  grinned  as  if  he  had  done 
a  very  clever  thing. 

The  mother  gave  him  a  box  on  the  ear,  calling 
him  "  a  divil  "  at  the  same  time,  and  sent  him  yelping 
away. 

"  'Faith,  that 's  a  'cute  child ! "  said  Solomon, 
grinning  a  horrid  smile ;  "  he  'd  make  an  iligant 
tinker,  he  sees  a  hole  in  a  pot  so  well." 

"  The  meddlin'  cur !  "  said  the  mother.  "  Well, 
what  '11  you  put  a  bit  o'  sawdher  an  it  for  ?  " 

"  A  bit  o'  sawdher,  indeed  !  "  said  Solomon.  "  Oh, 
'faith,  it 's  a  piece  o'  tin  I  must  insart  into  it." 

"Divil  an  insart,"  says  the  woman,  "you'll  insart 
my  saucepan,  my  good  man  !  Sawdher  is  all  it  wants 
— jist  a  weeshce  taste  o'  sawdher." 


156  Rory  O'More 

"  Cock  you  up  with  my  sawdher  indeed !  "  said 
Solomon ;  "  why,  't  would  take  more  than  all  the 
sawdher  I  have  to  stop  it.  Sure,  sawdher  is  as  dear 
as  tin  ;   and  rawzin  's  riz." 

''  Arrah,  why  would  rawzin  be  riz  ?  " 

"  There  was  sitch  a  power  o'  fiddlers  to  be  at  the 
fair  next  week,  that  they  bought  all  the  rawzin  up." 

"  Ah,  go  'long  wid  you  !  " 

"  It 's  thruth  I  'm  tellin'  you." 

"  Well,  what  will  you  take  for  the  saucepan  ?  " 

"•  I  '11  mind  it  for  fourpince." 

'■'•  Fourpince !  Oh,  where  do  you  expec'  to  go 
when  you  die  ?  Fourpince  indeed  !  I  '11  give  you 
tupp'ns." 

"  Could  n't,"  says  Solomon,  shaking  his  head  and 
going  to  drive  away  the  ass. 

"  Well,  what  will  you  say  ?  "   said  the  woman. 

"Well,  see  now,"  said  Solomon,  "I'm  tired  with 
thravelling  a'most  all  night,  and  I  'm  wantin'  rest ; 
and  indeed  I  'd  be  glad  to  sit  down,  if  it  was  only  to 
rest,  let  alone  doin'  a  job  and  airnin'  a  thrifle ;  and 
indeed  I  want  it  bad,  for  the  times  is  hard ;  and,  so 
God  bless  you,  if  you  '11  jist  throw  in  a  thrifle  o' 
brequest  into  the  bargain,  and  gi'  me  tupp'ns  ha'pny, 
I  '11  make  the  saucepan  as  good  as  new." 

"  Well,  I  would  n't  be  hard  wid  you,  my  poor  man, 
and  so  you  may  do  it." 

So  down  sat  the  tinker  and  opened  his  budget ;  and 
his  iron  was  heated  and  his  "  sawdher  "  produced,  not 
forgetting  the  "  rawzin  "  that  was  "  riz ;  "  and  bits 
of  old  tin  were  produced  from  his  budget,  into  which 
the  children  looked  with  the  most  profound  curiosity, 
endeavouring  to  fathom  the  depth  of  its  mysterious 
treasures.  Other  bits  of  tin  dazzled  their  longing 
eyes,  and  a  great  shears  seemed  placed  there  to  guard 
the  invaluable  store  from  plunder.     Solomon  cut  and 


.3/,. 


r  ^yi^rL/t;^A< 


Rory  O'More  157 

rasped  and  hammered  away,  and  rubbing  his  hot 
soldering-iron  upon  his  powdered  rosin  and  solder,  he 
raised  so  great  a  smoke  and  so  bad  a  smell,  that  the 
children  looked  on  him  as  some  wonderful  conjuror; 
and  as  they  saw  the  bright  streaks  that  his  implement 
produced  wherever  it  was  rubbed,  their  delight  was 
profound. 

When  the  man  of  the  house  returned  to  breakfast, 
he  saw  Solomon  seated  at  the  door  mending  the  leaky 
vessel,  and  his  children  standing  round  him  in  wonder, 
and  as  soon  as  the  job  was  done,  Solomon  was  called 
in  to  breakfast. 

"What  do  you  think?"  said  the  husband  to  the 
wife. 

"  What  ?  "  said  she. 

"That  blackguard  calf  got  over  the  wall  o'  the 
haggart  again  last  night  and  made  a  holy  show  o'  the 
hay-stack." 

"Oh,  you  don't  tell  me  so  !  "   said  the  wife. 

"Luck  to  the  lie  in  it!"  said  the  husband. 

Solomon  kept  eating  his  breakfast  with  the  most 
profound  indifference  until  the  husband  and  wife  had 
exhausted  their  eloquence,  and  then  he  said, 

"Them  cawves  is  great  rogues." 

"The  divil  run  a-huntin'  with  him  for  a  calf!  Oh, 
wait  'till  the  next  time  I  ketch  him  ! " 

"  Poor  thing,  poor  thing!"  said  Solomon,  tenderly. 
"  Sure,  it 's  nath'ral  they  'd  ate  !  " 

"  'Faith,  he  may  be  contint  with  his  good  grass  I 
think,"  said  the  man. 

"  Thrue  for  you  —  thrue  for  you,"  said  Solomon, 
quietly :  "  but  it 's  remarkable  how  bowld  some  o' 
them  cawves  is." 

Breakfast  was  finished  —  the  job  paid  for  —  the 
wallet  replaced  on  the  ass  amid  the  observation  and 
regret  of  all  the  children,  who  watched  the  old  tinker 


158  Rory  0' More 

and  saw  him  depart  with  sorrow  as  he  drove  his  ass 
down  the  lane,  after  getting  a  job  and  begging  a 
breakfast  from  the  man  he  had  robbed  over- night. 

Solomon  now  proceeded  to  the  town,  and  went  to 
the  forge  beside  which  he  had  deposited  the  tobacco. 
Here  he  had  a  plausible  pretext  to  go,  for  the  shoes 
of  the  ass  wanted  to  be  looked  to.  On  his  arrival  at 
the  forge,  the  smith  was  unoccupied,  so  there  was 
more  time  to  spare  for  Solomon  to  make  as  hard  a 
bargain  as  he  could  for  the  execution  of  the  job. 

"  Maybe  you  could  let  me  make  an  exchange  wid 
you  ?  and  if  you  would  have  any  thing  in  the  tinkerin' 
line  to  do,  sure  I  'd  do  it  for  nothin'  for  you,  if  you  'd 
do  the  ass  for  nothin'." 

"  Not  a  pot,  nor  pan,  nor  kittle  have  I,"  said  the 
blacksmith  ;  "  I  'm  a  bachelor,  and  intind  to  stay  so." 

In  the  mean  time  he  began  to  examine  the  ass's 
shoes  ;  and  the  tobacco  with  which  the  straddle  was 
lined  being  so  near  his  nose,  the  smith  began  to  snuff, 
and  said  at  last,  "Where  the  dickins  is  the  tabakky  ?  " 

Solomon  who  caught  the  sound  of  the  first  sniff  the 
smith  had  given,  saw  directly  how  matters  stood,  and 
hastened  to  the  rescue  :  he  got  close  beside  the  ass, 
and  to  the  smith's  inquiry  he  said, — 

"  It 's  here  in  my  pocket,  and  mighty  fine  tabakky 
it  is,  —  see.  I  got  a  bargain  o'  some  from  a  friend 
a  while  agon,  and  —  but  don't  mintion  it  —  if  you 
like  I  '11  share  the  bargain  wid  you,  to  the  value  of 
a  new  set  o'  shoes  for  the  baste." 

"  Gor !  that  ud  be  a  power  o'  tabakky  !  "  said  the 
smith. 

"  But  it 's  iligant  tabakky,"  said  Solomon.  Pulling 
from  his  pocket  several  yards  of  the  material,  wound 
into  a  close  ball,  and  popping  it  under  the  smith's 
nose,  he  said,  "What  do  you  think  of  that,  your 
sowl !  " 


Rory  O'More  159 


"  Faix,  that  is  tarein'  tabakky,  sure  enough  !  " 
was   the  delighted   smith's   reply. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say  to  a  new  set  o'  shoes  for 
the  baste  ?  "  said  Solomon. 

"  I  dunna,"  was  the  undecided  answer. 

"  You  know  you  '11  have  the  owld  shoes  in." 

"  To  be  sure  I  will,"  said  the  smith,  "  sure  that 's 
onlv  nath'ral :  but  what  good  is  a  little  ass's  shoes  r  " 

"  Oh,  shoes  is  shoes,"  said  Solomon. 

"  Whv,  tare  alive  !  they  are  wore  as  thin  as  a 
sixpence." 

"  'Deed,  that  is  thrue,"  said  Solomon,  "  for  the 
last  set  he  had  an  him  was  from  the  finest  smith  in 
Ireland  :  they  wore  powerful." 

"  Arrah,  who  's  that  ?  "  said  the  workman,  piqued 
at  the  mention  of  the  finest  smith  in  Ireland,  he  him- 
self not  being  the  person  meant. 

"  Why,  who  would  it  be  but  Brian  Branagan  ?  " 
said  Solomon,  who  well  knew  that  Brian  Branagan 
was  the  rival  of  the  man  who  stood  before  him,  and 
living  in  the  adjoining  lane,  but  who  had  never  made 
shoes  for  the  tinker's  ass  in  his  life. 

This  was  a  master-touch  of  Solomon,  —  the  smith 
bristled  directly  for  the  palm  of  superiority. 

"  Whv,  thin,  is  it  Branagan  you  say  is  the  finest 
smith  in  Ireland  ?  " 

"  Yis,"   said  Solomon  verj'  quietly. 

"  Throth,  then,  it  's  little  you  know  about  it, 
Branagan  indeed  !  The  divil  a  bigger  botch  ever 
dhruv  a  nail  than  the  same  Branagan  :   he  a  smith  !  !  " 

"  Oh !  I  don't  purtend  to  know  indeed,"  said 
Solomon  with  an  affected  air  of  not  wishing  to  offend, 
at  the  same  time  laying  hold  of  the  halter  of  the  ass. 
"  But  he 's  good  enough  for  me,  any  how :  good 
mornin'   kindlv  to  you,"   said   he,  going. 

This  was  too  much  for  the  smith. 


i6o  Rory  O'More 

"  Come  back  here,  I  tell  you  !  it 's  I  that  '11  show 
you  what  a  set  o'  shoes  is  :   Branagan  indeed  !  " 

"  Well,  will  you  take  what  I  said  ?  "  said  Solomon, 
affecting  not  to  care  much  whether  the  smith  did  or 
not, 

"  Yis,  yis,  but  never  say  the  word  Branagan  to 
me  !  "  Here  he  laid  hold  of  his  pincers,  knife,  and 
hammer,  and  began  to  knock  off  the  points  of  the 
nails  from  each  hoof,  and  pull  off  the  ass's  shoes  — 
every  drag  he  gave,  which  was  with  great  vigour, 
accompanied  by  a  "  hugh  "  and  the  exclamation  of 
^'  Branagan  indeed  !  !  " 

"  Had  n't  I  better  take  off  the  sthraddle,"  said 
Solomon. 

"  Ay,  off  wid  it,"  said  the  smith. 

So,  Solomon  took  off  the  highly-perfumed  straddle 
that  was  so  near  betraying  him,  and  then  filling  the 
smith's  pipe,  and  his  own  too,  with  some  of  the  to- 
bacco which  he  had  sold  to  the  smith,  he  commenced 
puffing  away  vigorously,  that  the  smell  of  the  lighted 
weed  might  prevent  the  perfume  of  the  dry  being 
noticed. 

While  the  smith  was  engaged  in  shoeing  the  ass 
inside  the  forge,  Solomon  had  time  to  disengage  the 
roll  of  stolen  tobacco  from  the  heap  of  cinders  where 
he  had  concealed  it,  and  hiding  it  in  one  of  his  old 
kettles,  he  was  quite  at  ease,  and  blew  the  bellows 
for  the  smith  while  he  heated  the  iron,  or  looked  over 
him  at  work  with  an  air  of  delight,  saying,  as  the 
smith  rasped  up  and  finished  his  work,  "Well, but 
thim  is  the  rale  iligant  shoes !  " 

"  You  '11  never  talk  o'  Branagan  agin,  will  you, 
afther  that  ?  "  said  the  smith. 

"  Throth,  an'  I  won't,"  said  Solomon ;  "  and  sure 
it 's  only  an  owld  fool  I  was,  up  to  this  present  time, 
in  thinkin'  the  like :  but  the  owldher  we  grow,  -the 


Rory  O'More  i6i 

more  we  larn.  Sure,  it 's  a  grate  loss  to  me  I  did  n't 
know  you  sooner  !  " 

"  Well,  it 's  never  too  late  to  mind,"  said  the 
smith. 

"  Thrue  for  you,"  said  Solomon  ;  "  nor  to  make^ 
aither."  And  so  saying,  he  filled  his  pipe  again  from 
the  smith's  tobacco,  and  wishing  him  good-morning, 
off  he  went,  having  secured  his  plunder,  and  getting 
a  new  set  of  shoes  on  his  ass  :  so  that  he  was  now 
ready  for  a  long  and  prosperous  round,  through  his 
usual  beat. 

The  smith  idled  the  rest  of  that  day,  smoking  at 
his  new  stock  of  "•  'bakky,"  drinking  to  quench  his 
thirst,  and  filling  up  the  intervals  by  snapping  his 
fingers  and  crying,  "  That  for  Branagan  !  " 


VOL.    X.  —  II 


CHAPTER   XII 

"  IN      THE      DARK     ALL      CATS      ARE     GREY."  RORY 

BECOMES     POSSESSED     OF     AN     IMPORTANT      SECRET, 
AND    DISCLOSES    ONE     IN    EXCHANGE 

WHEN  Rory  O'More  was  admitted  to  the  safe 
side  of  the  door,  he  felt  the  pressure  of  a 
hand  upon  his  arm,  which  he  interpreted  into  the 
meaning  of  "  be  quiet  ;  "  and  as  it  was  Rory's  own 
opinion  that,  in  his  present  circumstances,  it  was  the 
best  thing  he  could  do,  he  acquiesced.  One  thing 
however  he  was  sure  of —  that  it  was  a  woman  who 
admitted  him  to  the  house,  for  he  felt  the  soft  breath- 
ing of  one  of  the  gentle  sex  upon  his  cheek  as  he 
stood  motionless  by  the  door  beside  his  benefactress, 
while  they  heard  a  few  words  passing  between  the 
colonel  and  the  sentinel,  until  the  latter  descended 
the  steps. 

Immediately  after,  Rory  heard  the  woman  say 
gently,  "  Come  down,  darlin'  !  "  and  holding  the 
hand  that  was  laid  upon  his  arm,  he  followed  his 
conductress  as  softly  as  he  could.  They  soon  began 
to  descend  some  stairs,  and  before  they  had  reached 
the  bottom  of  the  flight,  the  sound  of  a  bolt  being 
drawn  was  heard  upstairs,  and  Rory's  friend  said  in 
a  suppressed  voice  of  terror,  "  Oh,  murdher  !  there  's 
the  colonel  comin'  down  !  you  must  hide  in  the  coal- 
hole. Make  haste,  for  the  love  o'  God,  or  I  'm  a 
ruined  woman  !  —  here,  here  !  "  and  she  dragged 
Rory  along  while  she  spoke.     "  Get  in  there,  as  far 


Rory  O'More  163 

as  ever  you  can,  and  hide  yourself,  or  I  dunna  what 
will  become  of  the  pair  of  us  !  " 

At  the  same  time,  she  opened  a  door  and  pushed 
Rory  inside  of  it.  He  heard  her  footsteps  retreat 
lio-htly  and  rapidly.  "  More  opening  of  doors  !  "  said 
Rory  to  himself,  as  he  scrambled  over  some  coal  and 
slack,  holding  his  arms  extended  to  save  his  nose  from 
fracture;  and  he  found  the  coal  vault  extensive,  for 
it  was  some  time  before  he  was  stopped  by  a  wall. 
As  soon  as  he  went  as  far  as  he  could  go,  he  crouched 
down,  keeping  his  face  however  turned  towards  the 
point  whence  he  entered,  and  he  soon  heard  the  de- 
scending footsteps  of  the  person  he  was  taught  to 
believe  was  the  colonel.  The  footsteps  seemed  to 
ramble  over  a  great  space  of  flagged  apartments,  and 
various  doors  squeaked  on  their  hinges  as  they  were 
opened  and  shut  in  succession  by  the  invisible  peram- 
bulant.  At  last  Rory  saw  the  glimmer  of  a  light, 
which  grew  stronger  by  degrees,  until  the  door  of  the 
cellar  opened,  and  then  he  saw  a  Don  Quixote  sort 
of  a  man,  with  a  candle  in  one  hand  and  a  drawn 
sword  in  the  other,  poke  his  head  in  at  the  door  of 
the  cellar,  and  holding  the  candle  a  yard  before  him, 
say,  "  Is  there  any  one  here  ?  " 

Rorv  knew  better  than  to  make  any  answer  this 
time,  and  having  thrown  the  tail  of  his  coat  over  his 
head,  leaving  only  a  small  peep-hole  for  his  eyes,  he 
remained  undistinguishable  amidst  the  surrounding 
gloom ;  for  the  vault  was  so  deep,  the  candle  so  dim, 
the  colonel  so  short-sighted,  and  Rory  crouched  so 
low,  that  he  quite  defied  observation.  Despite  his 
dangerous  situation,  however,  it  was  as  much  as  Rory 
could  do  not  to  laugh  ;  for  the  colonel,  with  his  long 
face,  long  candle,  long  body,  long  arms,  long  sword, 
long  legs,  and  short  shirt,  cut  so  ridiculous  a  figure, 
that  a  man  of  more  solid  mood  than  Rory  might  have 


i64  Rory  O'More 

been  provoked  to  mirth.  However,  by  good  luck, 
Rory  did  not  laugh,  though  the  colonel,  a  la  Don 
Quixote,  continued  to  open  his  goggle  eyes  on  the 
gloom  before  him  ;  but  he  was  startled  from  his  fixed 
observation  by  hearing  a  slip  amongst  the  coal,  which 
drew  forth  a  still  fiercer  demand  of  "•  Who  's  there  ?  " 
—  Upon  this  summons,  Rory  perceived,  between  him 
and  the  light,  a  great  cat  cautiously  crawl  to  the  sum- 
mit of  the  heap  of  coal,  and,  with  a  tail  bristling  to 
the  size  of  a  sweeping  brush,  make  a  desperate  rush 
down  the  acclivity  and  dart  between  the  colonel's  legs. 
The  man  of  war  actually  jumped  with  alarm  at  the 
suddenness  of  the  surprise,  and,  as  if  ashamed  of 
being  so  frightened  at  such  a  cause,  muttered  spite- 
fully, "  D — n  the  cat  !  "  He  now  retired  from  the 
cellar,  and  went  to  wake  (as  he  thought)  the  woman- 
servant  who  let  Rory  in,  and  whose  sleeping  apart- 
ment was  in  the  basement  story.  Rory  heard  him 
cry,  "Betty!"  —  no  answer.  "Betty!"  again, — 
still  silence  preserved.  "  Betty  !  "  still  louder  than 
before ;  —  Rory  heard  a  snort  and  a  growl  as  if  from 
a  suddenly-awakened  person. 

"  Who  's  that  ?  "  said  a  female  voice. 

"  Your  master :  have  you  heard  any  noise  in  the 
house  ?  " 

"  Noise,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes,  noise,  —  have  you  heard  any  ?  " 

"  No,  sir :  I  have  been  in  bed,  sir,  and  asleep, 
these  three  hours.  I  hope  there 's  nothing  the 
matther,  sir  ?  "  said  Betty,  with  very  honest  seeming. 

"  I  have  been  disturbed,"  said  the  colonel ;  "  and 
I  thought  robbers  had  got  into  the  house.  I  certainly 
heard  a  noise." 

"  Oh,  I  dar  say,  sir,"  said  Betty  ;  "  't  was  nothing 
but  the  cat :  he 's  mightly  throublesome  and  lively, 
that  cat  is,  —  and  I  forget  to  shut  him  up  sometimes 


Rory  O'More  165 

—  and  I'm  afeard  he  has  been  disturbing  you,  sir. 
Oh  dear,  but  I  'm  sorry  !  " 

This  was  a  good  guess  of  Betty's  ;  for  the  colonel 
having  seen  a  cat,  now  retired,  and  Rory  was  once 
more  left  in  darkness.  And  now  that  the  immediate 
chance  of  discovery  was  removed,  he  began  to  con- 
jecture by  what  extraordinary  means  he  was  let  into 
a  house  to  which  he  was  an  utter  stranger,  at  the 
moment  he  needed  it  most,  and  by  a  woman  of  whom 
he  knew  no  more  than  the  man  in  the  moon  :  her 
name  was  Betty  —  that  was  all  the  knowledge  he  ar- 
rived at,  —  and  that  he  only  knew  from  hearing  the 
colonel  address  her. 

After  the  lapse  of  half  an  hour,  Rory  heard  the 
name  of  "  Darby  "  whispered  at  the  door  of  the  cellar. 

In  equally  gentle  tone,  he  barely  ventured  to  say, 
rather  huskily,  "  Iss." 

"  Come  out,  darlin' ;  take  care  you  don't  rovvl 
down  any  of  the  big  lumps  o'   coal." 

Rory,  profiting  by  the  caution,  got  out  with  as 
little  noise  as  possible  ;  and  coming  in  contact  with 
his  female  guide,  he  was  led  into  an  apartment,  the 
door  of  which  was  very  cautiously  locked  by  the 
woman. 

"  Now  we  may  spake  more  at  our  aise,"  said  she. 
"  How  are  you,  darlin'  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  'm  throubled  with  a  mighty  bad  cowld," 
said  Rory,  who  thought  this  the  best  thing  he  could 
say  whereby  to  account  for  the  husky  tone  in  which 
he  spoke,  that  his  natural  voice  might  not  betray  the 
mistake  which  had  so  far  favoured  him. 

"  Oh,  but  your  voice  is  gone  intirely.  Darby 
darlin'!"  says  the  woman:  "but  here's  somethin' 
to  comfort  yon^  agr  a ;  here"  —  and  she  led  him  to 
where  a  chair  and  table  stood  —  "here,  sit  down  and 
ate  your  supper :    there 's   an    iligant   piece   o'    roast 


j66  Rory  O'More 

beef,  and  a  jug  of  beautiful  beer,  I  kept  sly  for  you. 
If  you  like,  I  'II  light  a  candle  for  you." 

"  Oh,  by  no  manes  !  "  said  Rory  ;  "  it 's  betther 
not :  as  the  house  was  alarmed,  the  light  might  be 
bad." 

"  No,  —  it 's  not  that  so  much,  but  I  'm  afeard  o' 
the  noise  of  sthrikin'  the  flint." 

"  Don't  think  of  it,  Betty  dear,"  grumbled  Rory. 

"  Lord  !   how  your  voice  is  althered  !  " 

*' Indeed  I'm  chokin'  with  the  cowld  —  hegh  ! 
hegh  !      Oh,  murdher  !  " 

"  Ate  a  bit,  and  it  'II  do  you  good.  I  'm  grieved 
you  have  n't  a  light,  darlin' ;  't  would  be  sitch  a  com- 
fort to  you." 

"  I  don't  miss  it  in  the  laste,  Betty  :  I  can  find  the 
way  to  my  mouth  in  the  dark." 

And  so  saying,  Rory  began  to  eat  his  supper,  which 
was  most  acceptable  to  him  for  two  reasons:  —  first, 
he  was  hungry  ;  and  in  the  next  place,  the  occupation 
accounted  for  his  silence,  which  it  was  so  desirable  to 
preserve. 

"  But,  you  villain  !  what  did  you  ring  that  thievin' 
bell  for  ?  " 

"  'T  was  a  mistake,  darlin'  —  hegh  !  hegh  !  hegh  ! 
Oh !  this  cowld  is  chokin'  me  !  " 

"  Don't  disthress  yourself  talkin'.  Darby  dear ;  re- 
lieve yourself  with  the  mate  and  the  dhrink." 

Rory  obeyed. 

"  I  run  up  the  minit  I  heard  the  bell ;  and,  sure, 
was  n't  it  the  hoighth  o'  good  luck  that  I  got  you  in 
before  the  colonel  kem  down!  Oh!  he'd  murdher 
me,  I  'm  sure,  if  he  thought  how  it  was  !  But,  afther 
all.  Darby  jewel,  what  harm  is  there  in  an  honest 
woman  havin'  her  husband  to  come  see  her  ?  —  sure 
it 's  nath'ral." 

"  To  be  sure,  Betty  jewel,"  said  Rory,  who  now 


Rory  0' More  167 

perceived  that  he  was  mistaken  bv  Betty  for  her  hus- 
band ;  and  Rory's  inventive  imagination  set  to  work  in 
fancying  what  a  dilemma  he  should  be  in,  in  case  the 
real  husband  might  arrive.  In  the  mean  time,  how- 
ever, he  fortified  his  patience  and  resolution  with  the 
beef  and  beer,  which  did  great  credit  to  the  colonel's 
larder  and  cellar. 

"  But  you  're  not  atein',  Darby  dear,"  said  Betty. 

"No,  but  I  'm  dhrinkin',"  said  Rory. 

"Much  good  do  your  heart,  jewel !  But,  tell  me, 
how  is  Johnnv  ?  " 

Now,  who  the  deuce  Johnnv  was,  Rory  could  not 
tell ;  but  supposing,  from  the  diminutive  form  of  the 
name,  it  might  be  her  child,  he  thought  it  best  to 
please  her  with  a  favourable  answer ;  so  he  said, 
"  Johnny  's  ven,'  well." 

"  Thank  God  !  "  said  Betty.  "  He  's  a  fine  crav- 
thur  :   how  well  he  got  over  it !  " 

"  Iligant !  "  said  Rory,  who  wondered  what  it  was 
Johnny  got  over. 

"And  how  is  the  hives  ?  "  said  Betty. 

^'  They  're  all  where  they  wor,"  said  Rory,  who  did 
not  dream  of  any  other  hives  than  beehives  ;  while 
Betty  meant  the  cutaneous  eruption  that  "  Johnnv  " 
was  suffering  under. 

"  And  has  none  o'  thim  disappeared  ?  "  said  Bettv. 

"Oh!  no,"  said  Rorv ;  "we  take  great  care  o' 
thim." 

"  Do,  darlin',  do  ;  —  keep  'em  from  cowld." 

"  Oh  yis ;  we  put  sthraw  over  them,"  said  Ror\'. 

"  Sthraw  !  "  said  Betty  ;  "  why,  thin,  is  it  takin' 
lave  o'  your  sinses  you  are,  Darby  ?  Is  it  sthraw  on 
the  hives  ?  " 

"Sartinlv;  sure  the  bees  likes  it." 

"  Bees  !  "  said  Betty  ;  "  arrah,  what  bees  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  bees  in  the  hives,"  said  Rory. 


i68  Rory  O'More 

"  Arrah,  man,  don't  be  going  on  with  your  hum- 
buggin' !  you  know  I  'm  axin'  about  the  child  very 
well,  and  you  must  go  on  with  your  thricks  about 
beehives.  I  hate  humbuggin',  so  I  do.  Darby,  — 
and  you  know  I  do;  and  you  will  be  goin'  on,  all  I 
can  say." 

Rory  saw  there  was  some  mistake;  and  to  stop 
Betty,  he  said,  "  Whisht,  whisht !  " 

"What  is  it  ?  "  said  Betty. 

"  Don't  talk  so  much,  or  maybe  they  '11  hear 
uz." 

Betty  was  silent  for  some  time ;  but  as  perfect  still- 
ness seemed  to  reign  in  the  house,  she  returned  to  the 
charge  on  the  hives.  , 

"  But,  tell  me,  is  the  hives  all  out  ? " 

"  Av  coorse,"  said  Rory. 

"  And  do  they  look  well  ?  " 

"  Mighty  purty  indeed,"  said  Rory  ;  "  and  there  '11 
be  a  power  o'  honey  in  them,  I  'm  sure." 

Betty  now  gave  him  a  box  on  the  ear,  saying, 
"Devil  sweep  you!  you  will  be  humbuggin'  so  you 
will.  You  cruel  brute  !  can't  you  make  fun  of  any 
thing  but  the  poor  child  that  is  lyin'  undher  the 
hives  ? " 

"  Sure,  I  tell  you  the  child  is  well  and  hearty ;  and 
is  n't  that  enough  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"  And  it  's  only  jokin'  you  wor  ?  "  said  Betty. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Rory ;  "  you  ought  to  know 
my  ways  by  this  time.  This  is  mighty  fine 
beef!" 

"But,  'deed  an'  'deed,  is  Johnny " 

"  Bad  luck  to  the  word  more  I  'II  say  !  "  said  Rory, 
affecting  an  angry  silence. 

Betty  now  changed  her  ground,  and  thought  a  bit 
of  scandal  confided  to  Darby,  would  amuse  him  ;  so 
she  began  to  tell  him  that,  suppose  the  colonel  should 


Rory  O'More  169 

find  out  she  brought  her  husband  into  the  house,  he 
had  no  right  to  complain,  for  at  all  events  it  was  her 
own  husband,  and  nobody  else. 

Ror)'  chuckled  at  her  confidence. 

"Not  all  as  one,"  said  Betty,  "as  him  —  with  an- 
other man's  wife  !      Puity  goin's  on." 

*'  Do  you  tell  me  so  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"  I  found  it  all  out,  so  he  'd  betther  say  nothin'  to 
me,  or  I  could  desthroy  him.  Not  that  she  's  a  bit 
worse  than  ever  she  was  ;  but  if  the  collecthor  knew 
it " 

Rory  cocked  his  ears.     "Is  it  Scrubbs  you  mane  ?  " 

"  Who  else,"  said  Betty. 

"  And  his  wife  ?  "  said  Rory. 

*' Is  come  over  on  a  visit,  by  the  way — but  I 

know  what  I  know." 

"  How  long  ago  ?  "  said  Rory. 

**  Since  you  were  here  last,"  said  Betty. 

"  That  's  a  long  time,"  thought  Rory  to  himself. 

"  Scrubbs  went  to  town  last  week,  and  over  comes 
madam  —  on  a  visit.  Av  coorse  she'll  go  back 
when  she  expects  her  nate  man  home.  But  it  sarves 
him  right  !  —  what  could  he  expec'  when  he  tuk  up 
with  the  likes  of  her,  the  dirty  cur !  " 

Betty  went  on  for  some  time  in  this  strain,  venting 
the  vials  of  her  wrath  on  the  colonel  and  Mrs. 
Scrubbs  ;  and  Rory  did  not  interrupt  her,  for  he  was 
glad  the  more  she  talked,  as  it  relieved  him  from  the 
difficulty  of  remaining  concealed  under  her  questions. 
After  exhausting  her  news  and  her  abuse,  she  began 
to  ask  Rory  more  questions,  to  all  of  which  he  re- 
plied by  the  exclamation  of  "  Whisht,"  protesting  at 
the  same  time  he  was  afraid  to  speak  for  fear  of  dis- 
covery by  the  colonel.  At  last,  when  Betty  found 
he  had  cleared  the  dish  and  emptied  the  jug,  she 
said, — 


170  Rory  O'More 

"  You  had  betther  come  to  bed  now,  darlin'." 

This  was  a  poser,  and  Rory  said,  "  Whisht" 
again. 

''Come  to  bed,  jewel  —  you'll  be  more  comfor- 
tabler  there  than  sittin'  here  in  the  cowld,  and  we  can 
talk  without  any  fear  o'  bein'  heerd,  with  our  heads 
undher  the  blankets." 

"  I  can't  bear  my  head  undher  the  blankets,"  said 
Rory. 

"  That 's  newly  come  to  you,  thin,"  said  Betty. 

"  That  is  since  this  cowld,"  said  Rory,  recovering 
himself:  "  it  chokes  me,  this  cowld  does." 

"  There  's  not  a  finer  thing  in  the  world  for  a 
cowld  than  to  go  to  bed,"  said  Betty. 

"  But  the  cowld  rises  in  my  throat  to  that  degree 
when  I  lie  down,"  said  Rory,  "  that  it  smothers 
me." 

"  Maybe  't  would  be  better  to-night,  darlin',"  said 
Betty. 

"  I  'd  rather  sit  up,"  said  Rory. 

"You  '11  be  lost  with  the  cowld,"  said  Betty,  "  and 
no  fire  in  the  grate." 

Rory  found  Betty  was  determined  to  have  matters 
her  own  way,  and  began  to  get  puzzled  how  he 
should  avoid  this  difficulty,  and  the  only  chance  of 
escape  he  saw  open  to  him,  was  to  request  the  tender 
and  confiding  Betty  to  prepare  herself  for  a  "  grate 
saycret "  he  had  to  tell  her,  and  that  she  would 
promise  when  he  informed  her  of  it,  not  to  be  too 
much  surprised.  Betty  protested  to  preserve  the 
most  philosophic  composure. 

"  You  won't  screech  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"  What  would  I  screech  for  ?  "  said  Betty. 

"  It  's  mighty  surprisin',"  said  Rory. 

"  Arrah,  don't  keep  me  waitin',  but  let  me  have  it 
at  wanst,"  said  Betty  eagerly. 


Rory  O'More  171 

"  Now,  darlin',  take  it  aisy,"  said  Rory,  "  for  you 
must  know " 

'^  What  ?  "  said  Betty. 

"  I  'm  not  Darby,"  said  Rory. 

Betty  scarcely  suppressed  a  scream. 

"  You  villain  !  "  said  she. 

"  I  'm  not  a  villain,  aither,"  said  Ror)\ 

"What  brought  you  here  at  all  ?  " 

"  Yourself,"  said  Rory  :  "  sure,  was  n't  it  yourself 
pulled  me  inside  the  hall-door  ?  " 

"  But,  sure,  I  thought  it  was  Darby  was  in  it." 

"  Well,  and  have  n't  I  been  honest  enough  to  tell 
you  I  'm  not  Darby,  at  last,  when  it  might  have 
been  throublesome  to  vour  conscience,   Betty  ?  " 

"  Ay,"  said  the  woman,  "  there  's  more  o'  your 
roguer)'  !  Betty  too  !  —  how  did  you  make  out  my 
name,  you   divil's  limb  ?  " 

"  A  way  o'  my  own,  Betty." 

"  Oh,  a  purty  rogue  vou  are,  I  go  bail  —  throth 
it  's  not  the  first  house  you  got  into,  I  dare  sav,  nor 
the  first  poor  woman  you  enthrapped,  you  midnight 
desaiver  —  and  takin'   up  my   name  too." 

"  Well,  I  have  n't  taken  away  your  name  any  how; 
so  don't  be  so  fractious." 

"  Arrah,  but  how  do  1  know  but  you  will." 

"  Well,  it 's  time  enough  to  cr\'  when  you  're 
hurt,  Betty,  —  keep  yourself  cool  now  —  there  's  no 
harm  done." 

"  No  harm  indeed  !  Curse  your  impidince  !  —  No 
harm  !  Why,  how  do  I  know  but  it  's  a  robber  you 
are  maybe  ?  'Faith  I  b'lieve  I  'd  best  rise  the  house 
and  own  this  thing  to  the  colonel." 

"  Betty  dear,"  said  Rory  very  quietly,  "  have  a 
little  wit  in  your  anger,  agra  !  think  o'  your  char- 
aether^   Betty." 

"  Oh   my  characther,  my  characther,  sure  enough 


172  Rory  O^More 

it 's  ruined  for  ever  !  Oh,  what  '11  I  do  !  "  And  she 
was  going  to  cry  and  make  a  fool  of  herself  when 
Rory   reminded   her   that  crying  would   do  no  good. 

"  The  curse  o'  Crum'll  an  you  !  what  brought  you 
nigh  the  place  at  all  ?   and  who  are  you  ?  " 

''  No  matther  who  I  am,  but  I  tell  you  what  is  the 
best  thing  you  can  do  :  jist  let  me  stay  quietly  in 
the  house  until  the  dawn,  and  thin  let  me  out 
onknownst." 

"  Oh,  I  dar'  n't,  I  dar'  n't,"  said  Betty.  "  Sure  if 
you  wor  seen  quittin'  the  place,  't  would  be  the  ruin 
o  me  ! 

''  By  dad  !  I  must  quit  it  some  time  or  other,"  said 
Rory  :  ''  and  sure  if  you  let  me  out  now  itself,  maybe 
the  colonel  will  hear  the  door  opening ;  or  even  if  he 
does  n't,  sure  the  sojers  is  now  on  the  watch,  and 
would  catch  me." 

"  Oh,  you  must  n't  go  out  by  the  front,"  said 
Betty :  "  I  '11  let  you  out  into  the  garden  at  the  back, 
and  you  must  get  over  the  wall,  for  here  you  must  n't 
stay — that's  tee-totally  out  o'  the  question." 

"  Well,  any  thing  for  a  quiet  life,"  said  Rory  ;  "  do 
what  you  plaze  with  me  ;  but  I  think,  as  I  am  here, 
you  might  as  well  let  me  sit  up  here  till  towards 
mornin'." 

"  No,  no,  no  !  "  said  Betty  in  great  tribulation. 
"  Who  knows  but  Darby  might  come  !  and  then  what 
in  the  wide  world  would  I  do  !  " 

"  You  should  keep  him  out,"  said  Rory. 

"  Out,  indeed  !  "  said  Betty,  —  "  keep  Darby  out  ! 
Sure,  he  'd  suspec'  somethin'  was  n't  right,  for  he 's 
as  jealous  as  a  turkey-cock,  and  he  'd  murdher  me  if 
he  thought  how  it  was.  Oh,  what  brought  you  here 
at  all ! " 

At  this  moment,  some  pebbles  were  thrown  against 
the  area  window. 


Rory  O'More  173 

"  Oh,  by  this  and  that,"  said  Betty,  "  there  he  is. 
—  Oh,  what  'II  become  o'  me  !  " 

"  Tut  !  woman  alive,"  said  Rory,  who  endeavoured 
to  make  her  attend,  for  she  became  almost  confounded 
by  the  difficulty  of  her  situation,  and  was  clapping  her 
hands  and  uttering  a  volley  of  Oh's,  — "  Tut  ! 
woman,  don't  be  clappin'  your  hands  like  a  wash- 
woman and  makin'  an  uproar,  but  jist  let  me  out 
smart  into  the  garden,  and  I  '11  get  over  the  wall  as 
you  towld  me." 

Betty  seemed  aroused  to  action  by  Rory's  sugges- 
tion, and  now  led  him  to  a  back  window,  which  she 
opened  carefully  ;  and  telling  Rory  to  get  out  softly, 
she  handed  him  a  chair,  and  then  followed  herself. 
She  conducted  him  then  to  the  end  of  the  garden,  and 
placing  the  chair  close  to  the  wall,  she  held  it  firmly, 
while  Rorv  got  upon  the  back  rail,  which  enabled  him 
to  lay  his  hands  on  the  top  of  the  brickwork,  and  he 
soon  scrambled  up  and  dropped  himself  on  the  out- 
side. On  his  landing,  he  ran  as  fast  and  lightly  as  he 
could  from  the  quarter  where  the  sentinels  were 
placed,  and  so  far  escaped  unobserved,  and  continued 
in  a  straight  line  up  a  narrow  street  that  opened  from 
one  of  the  corners  of  the  green.  Here  he  paused  a 
while  before  deciding  which  way  he  should  proceed  ; 
for,  in  the  hurry  of  leaving  the  house,  he  never 
thought  of  asking  Betty  which  was  the  way  to  go. 
Rory  took  the  first  turn  out  of  this  street  that  chance 
suggested,  and  was  getting  on  famouslv,  as  he  thought ; 
but  while  in  the  very  act  of  congratulating  himself  on 
his  wonderful  deliverance  from  the  soldiers,  he  turned 
another  corner,  and  was  scarcely  round  it,  when  a 
startling  "  Who  's  there  ?  "  was  uttered  a  ^t^  paces 
ahead  of  him,  and  the  rattling  of  a  firelock  accom- 
panied the  challenge. 

Rory  saw  the  game  was  up,  and  that  after  all  his 


174  Rory  O'More 

former  luck,  It  was  his  fate  to  become  a  prisoner;  so 
he  approached  the  point  whence  he  was  challenged, 
and  said,  "  A   friend." 

"  Advance  and  give  the  countersign,"  said  the 
sentinel,  emerging  from  a  sentry-box. 

"  I  have  n't  sitch  a  thing  about  me,  sir,"  said  Rory. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

IN    WHICH    RORY     REMEMBERS     THE    OLD    SAYING    OF 
u  PUT  THAT  IN  YOUR  PIPE  AND  SMOKE  IT  " 

WHEN  Rory  could  not  give  the  countersign  nor 
produce  a  pass,  the  sentinel  told  him  he  was 
his  prisoner,  and  must  remain  in  his  custody  until 
the  guard  should  be  relieved  ;  to  which  Rory  made 
not  the  least  objection. 

To  all  the  soldier's  questions  as  to  where  he  had 
been  and  what  brought  him  out  at  that  hour  of  the 
night,  Rory  gave  ready  but  evasive  answers,  until,  the 
first  moment  of  surprise  being  past,  he  had  time  to 
invent  such  replies  as  would  least  embarrass  him  in 
any  subsequent  examination  he  might  undergo ;  and 
was  so  far  successful,  that  the  soldier  believed  him  to 
be  a  peasant  who  was  abroad  at  that  hour  through 
ignorance. 

Rory  now  thought  of  General  Hoche's  letter,  and 
began  to  feel  uneasy  at  the  possession  of  such  a  docu- 
ment. Under  the  surveillance  of  the  sentinel  he 
could  not  well  manage  to  tear  it ;  and  even  if  he  had, 
it  being  found  near  the  spot,  would  prove  a  suspicious 
circumstance  against  him.  In  this  dilemma,  an  in- 
genious thought  occurred  to  him.  Stooping,  as  it 
were  to  rub  his  leg,  he  soiled  his  fingers  with  the 
mud  upon  his  shoes,  and  then  introducing  his  hand 
into  the  pocket  which  held  the  letter,  he  dabbled  it 
with  the  dirt  to  take  off  its  look  of  freshness,  and 
doubled  it  together  in  narrow  folds,  so  as  to  resemble 


176  Rory  O'More 

those  billets  of  paper  which  the  Irish  peasantry  so 
commonly  stick  in  their  hats  for  the  purpose  of  light- 
ing their  pipes.  This,  the  thin  texture  of  the  foreign 
paper  enabled  him  the  better  to  do  ;  and  Rory  then 
stuck  the  dangerous  document  into  his  hatband, 
where  he  trusted  to  its  remaining  without  exciting 
suspicion. 

In  about  half  an  hour  the  guard  was  relieved,  and 
Rory  was  handed  over  to  the  patrole,  who  marched 
him  into  the  guard-house  of  the  barrack,  up  to  whose 
very  walls  it  was  his  ill  luck  to  have  directed  his 
steps  on  leaving  the  colonel's  house.  Rory  entered 
the  place  of  durance  with  the  greatest  composure, 
and  began  talking  to  the  soldiers  with  the  most 
admirable  nonchalance. 

"  Faix,  I  'm  glad  I  had  the  luck  to  fall  in  with 
you  !  "  said  he,  "  for  I  did  n't  know  where  in  the 
world  to  go ;  and  here  I  am  undher  a  good  roof, 
with  a   fine   fire  in   the   place." 

The  soldiers  did  not  attend  to  him  much,  but 
crowded  round  the  fire,  while  the  Serjeant  went  to 
make  his  report  to  the  officer  of  the  guard  that  a 
prisoner  had   been   brought   in. 

This  officer  happened  to  be  a  very  raw  ensign, 
who  having  lately  joined,  and  being  moreover  by 
nature  a  consequential  coxcomb,  was  fond  of  giving 
himself  all  the  airs  in  which  a  position  of  authority 
could  permit  him  to  indulge,  much  to  his  own  personal 
delight  and  the  good  of  his  majesty's  service. 

When  the  serjeant  had  announced  his  own  presence 
before  his  superior  officer  by  the  respectful  enuncia- 
tion of  "  Plase  your  honour,"  he  stood  as  upright  as 
his  own  halberd  —  he  had  just  about  as  much  brains, 
—  with  his  arms  and  hands  stuck  straight  and  close 
to  his  side,  until  the  ensign  thought  fit  to  lift  his 
gooseberry    eyes    from    the    novel    he    was    reading. 


Rory  O'More 


1 1 


When  he  vouchsafed  to  look  at  the  Serjeant,  he 
said,   "  What 's   your   business  ?  " 

"The  pattherowl,  your  honour,  has  tuk  a  presner." 

"  Where  did    they    make    the    arrest  ?  " 

"  The  rest,  vour  honour  ?  there  's  no  more  o' 
them,  your   honour." 

"  I  say,  where  did  thev  capture  him  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  they  did  nothing  to  him,  your  honour,  until 
they  have  your  honour's  ordhers." 

"  Confound  you !  I  sav,  where  did  thev  take 
him?" 

*'  They  have  tuk  him  into  the  guard-house,  vour 
honour." 

"  You  horrid  individual  !  I  mean,  where  was  he 
found  ?  " 

"  In  the  sthreet,  your  honour." 

"  You  beast !      What  street  ?  " 

"  Butthermilk  Street,  your  honour." 

"  Near  the  barrack  ?  " 

"  Yis,  your  honour." 

"  Has  he   any    accomplices  ?  " 

"  We  have    not  sarched   him  yet,  your   honour." 

"  Confound  you  !  —  I  mean,  was  he  in  company  ?  " 

"  Yis,  your  honour ;  he  savs  he  was  in  company, 
but  thev  turned  him  out,  vour  honour." 

"  Then  he  was  alone  ?  " 

"  Yis,  your  honour." 

"  Have  vou  searched  him?  " 

"  No,  your  honour." 

"  Demneetion,  sir  !  You  should  alwavs  search  a 
prisoner  the  first  thing — you  don't  know  but  a 
prisoner  may  have  concealed  arms  or  treasonable 
papers  on    his   person.      Search   him    directly." 

*'  Yis,  your  honour,"  said  the  serjeant,  raising  his 
arm  like  the  handle  of  a  pump,  and  when  he  had 
it  at   full   length,  doubling  it  up  from   his  elbow  till 

VOL.    I.  —  12 


178  Rory  O'^More 

his  hand,  as  flat  as  a  fish-knife,  touched  his  head  : 
then  deliberately  reversing  all  these  motions  until  his 
arm  was  back  again  at  his  side,  he  turned  on  his  heel, 
and  was  leaving  the  room,  when  the  ensign,  calling 
him  back  again,  said,  with  an  air  of  great  authority, — 

"  I  expect  never  to  hear  of  such  a  gross  breach  of 
discipline  and  neglect  of  duty  again  :  never  report  a 
prisoner  in  my  presence  without  being  able  to  answer 
all  such  important  questions  as  I  have  been  asking 
you  ;  and  for  this  purpose  let  your  first  duty  be 
always  to  search  him  directly.  Go,  now,  and  report 
to  me  again  when  the  person  of  this  prisoner  has 
undergone   rigid  inspection.      Retire  !  " 

"  Yis,  your  honour,"  said  the  serjeant,  repeating 
his  salute  with  his  usual  solemnity,  and  stalking  from 
the  room  into  the  guard-house. 

Now,  the  room  where  the  officer  sat  was  a  small 
apartment  partitioned  off  the  guard-house  ;  and  Rory, 
whose  ears  were  open,  heard  every  word  of  the  offi- 
cer's magniloquence  and  the  Serjeant's  stupidity  ;  and 
so  soon  as  he  heard  the  order  about  searching,  and 
the  words  "  treasonable  papers,"  he  thought  that  to 
let  the  letter  remain  in  existence  would  be  only  run- 
ning an  unnecessary  risk ;  so  he  very  deliberately 
approached  the  fire,  and  having  taken  Hoche's  letter 
from  his  hatband,  he  spoke  to  some  soldiers  who  were 
sitting  round  the  hearth  all  unmindful  of  what  was 
going  forward  between  the  officer  and  the  serjeant, 
and,  handing  them  the  letter  twisted  up  in  the  form 
of  a  match  for  lighting  a  pipe,  he  said,  — 

*'  I  beg  your  pardon  for  being  so  throublesome, 
gintlemen,  but  would  you  oblige  me  to  light  this  taste 
of  paper  for  me  to  kindle  my  pipe  ?  for  indeed  it 's 
mighty  cowld,  and  I  'm  lost  with  the  wet." 

One  of  the  soldiers  did  as  he  required ;  for  the 
request  was  so  natural,  and  Rory's  manner  so  cool. 


Rory  O^More  179 

that  no  suspicion  was  awakened  of  the  importance  of 
the  document  on  whose  destruction  Rory's  life  or 
death  depended,  and  the  lighted  paper  was  handed  to 
him  over  the  shoulders  of  the  party  that  enclosed  the 
fire,  and  Rory  lighted  his  pipe  with  a  self-possession 
that  would  have  done  honour  to  an  American  Indian. 
From  the  wetting  the  letter  had  sustained  while  ex- 
posed in  Rory's  hat,  it  burned  slowly  ;  so,  when  he 
heard  the  serjeant  coming  from  the  officer's  room, 
and  his  feigned  match  not  yet  consumed,  he  leaned 
over  the  back  of  the  soldier  who  had  obliged  him, 
and  saying,  "  Thank  you  kindly,  sir,"  threw  the 
remainder  of  the  paper  into  the  fire,  just  as  the  Ser- 
jeant returned  to  execute  the  ensign's  order. 

The  search  instituted  upon  Rory's  person  produced 
no  evidence  against  him.  When  it  was  over,  he  sat 
down  and  smoked  his  pipe  very  contentedly.  In  a 
few  minutes  another  prisoner  made  his  appearance, 
when  a  second  party,  who  had  been  relieving  guard, 
came  in.  This  man  was  making  loud  protestations 
that  he  was  not  the  person  the  soldiers  took  him  for; 
but  his  declarations  seemed  to  have  no  effect  on  the 
guard. 

"  I  wonder  you  were  not  afraid  to  come  to  the 
place  again,  after  having  escaped  once  before,"  said 
one  of  the  sentinels  who  brought   him  in. 

"  I  tell  you  again,  I  never  was  there  before,"  said 
the  man. 

"Bother!"  said  the  sentinel;  "you  won't  do  an 
old  soldier  that  way." 

"  By  this  and  by  that,"  said  the  prisoner. 

"  Whish,  whish  !  "  said  the  soldier  ;  "  sure  we  were 
looking  for  you  before :  however,  you  contrived  to 
give  us  the  slip." 

"I  gave  you  no  slip,"  said  the  prisoner:  "I  tell 
you  again,  't  was  the  first  time  I  was  there." 


i8o  Rory  O'More 

"  Fudge  !  "  said  the  soldier  :  "  how  did  the  bell 
ring  ? " 

"  Divil  a  bell  I  rung,"  said  the  man. 

Rory  understood  in  an  instant  how  this  mystifica- 
tion took  place:  he  suspected  at  once  this  must  be 
Darby,  who  had  thrown  the  pebbles  that  startled 
Betty  so  much  j  and,  while  he  laughed  in  his  sleeve 
at  the  poor  husband  being  mistaken  for  the  person 
who  had  disturbed  the  colonel's  house,  he  continued 
to  smoke  his  pipe  with  apparent  indifference  to  all 
that  was  going  forward,  and  did  not  as  much  as  look 
up  at  the  prisoner.  It  was  absurd  and  whimsical 
enough,  certainly,  that  Betty  should  first  have  mis- 
taken him  for  Darby,  and  then  that  Darby  should 
be  mistaken  for  him  by  the  soldiers.  Darby  still 
continued  to  protest  his  innocence  of  any  pre- 
vious approach  to  the  house;  but  the  soldiers 
could  not  be  persuaded  out  of  their  senses,  as 
they  themselves  said ;  and  so  the  affair  concluded 
by  Darby  being  desired  to  sit  down  beside  his  fel- 
low-prisoner. 

Rory  now  looked  at  him,  to  see  what  sort  of  a 
bargain  Betty  had  made  in  a  husband,  and,  to  his 
surprise,  he  beheld  one  of  the  men  he  had  seen  in  the 
cellar.  A  momentary  look  of  recognition  passed  be- 
tween them,  and  then  they  withdrew  their  eyes,  lest 
the  bystanders  should  notice  their  intelligence. 

"  Where  will  the  adventures  of  this  night  end  !  " 
thought  Rory  to  himself. 

But  all  adventures  must  have  an  end  at  last,  and 
this  chapter  of  Rory's  accidents  came  to  a  close 
next  morning ;  in  the  mean  time,  however,  Rory 
stretched  himself  on  the  guard-bed  when  he  had 
finished  his  pipe,  and  slept  soundly.  It  may  be 
wondered  at  that  he  could  sleep  under  such  exciting 
circumstances,  and  still  in  a  perilous  situation  ;  but 


Rory  0' More  i8i 

when  we  remember  all  the  fatigues  he  had  gone 
though  the  preceding  day,  it  does  not  seem  extraor- 
dinary that  sleep  should  have  favoured  one  like  Rory, 
who  was  always  full  of  hope,  and  did  not  know  what 
fear  meant. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

IN    WHICH    IT    APPEARS    THAT    ONE    MAN's    SIN    MAY 
PROVE     ANOTHER     MAN's    SALVATON 

IN  the  morning  he  was  awoke  by  a  prodigious 
drumming ;  and  various  other  drummings,  and 
filings,  and  trumpetings,  &c.  went  forward,  with 
paradings  and  such  military  formula  :  these  being 
finished,  Rory  and  Darby  were  conducted  from  the 
guard-house,  and  led  into  the  presence  of  the  colonel, 
whom  Rory  recognised  for  his  coal-hole  acquaintance 
of  the  preceding  night. 

Rory,  on  being  questioned  as  to  what  brought  him 
into  the  streets  at  such  an  hour,  said  that  he  was  a 
stranger  in  the  town ;  that  it  being  market-day,  he 
went  with  a  few  ''  boys  "  to  have  some  drink,  and  that 
he  become  drowsy  and  fell  asleep  in  a  public-house ; 
that  subsequently  he  was  awoke,  and  that  he  then  saw 
other  people  in  the  room ;  that  a  quarrel  arose ;  that 
they  did  not  seem  to  like  his  company,  and  "  at  last," 
said  Rory,  "  they  gave  me  a  hint  to  go." 

"  What  hint  did  they  give  you  ?  "  said  the  colonel. 

"  They  kicked  me  down  stairs,  your  honour,"  said 
Rory. 

A  laugh  followed  Rory's  exposition  of  what  a  hint 
was.     "  That 's  rather  a  strong  hint,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  I  thought  so  myself,  your  honour,"  said  Rory  ; 
"  and  so  when  they  kicked  me  down  stairs,  I  sus- 
pected it  was  time  to  go." 

"  But,  my  good  fellow,"  said  the  colonel,  noticing 


Rory  O'More 


Rory's  fine  proportions  and  bold  eye,  though  Rory 
endeavoured  to  look  as  innocent  as  he  could,  "  I 
don't  think  you  seem  like  a  fellow  that  would  take 
such  a  hint  quietly." 

"  Why,  your  honour,  I  'm  behowlden  to  you  for 
your  good  opinion,  and  indeed  it  's  thrue,  I  'm  proud 
to  say  ;  but  what  could  I  do  agin  a  dozen  ?  I  offered 
to  bate  them  all  round  singly  ;  but  they  would  not 
listen  to  rayson,  and  so  they  shoved  me  outside  the 
door;  and  there  I  was  in  the  sthreet,  knowin'  no 
more  than  the  child  unborn  where  to  turn,  or  where 
to  go  look  for  a  bed." 

"  I  '11  have  the  keeper  of  that  public-house  punished 
for  having  it  open  at  such  an  hour.  —  Where  is  it  ?  " 

"  Indeed  and  I  don't  know,"  said  Rory. 

The  colonel  looked  incredulous.  He  questioned 
Rory  more  closelv,  who  fenced  very  ingeniously  ; 
but  still  the  suspicions  of  the  colonel  were  excited, 
and  he  said   at   last,  — 

"  Your  account  of  yourself,  my  good  fellow,  is 
rather  confused." 

"  No  wondher,  your  honour,  when  I  was  dhrunk 
all  the  time." 

"  That  won't  do,"  said  the  colonel,  who  continued 
in  a  severer  tone,  — "I  suspect  you  're  a  deep  fellow, 
sir,  and  know  more  than  you  choose  to  tell,  and 
therefore  I  '11  hand  you  over  to  the  Serjeant.  —  Here, 
Serjeant."  That  functionary  advanced.  "  Serjeant," 
said  the  colonel,  "  take  this  fellow  to  the  halberds, 
—  let  the  drummers  give  him  a  dozen,  and  see  if 
that  will  refresh  his  memory." 

Rory's  heart  almost  burst  with  indignation  at  the 
thought  of  the  degradation,  and  he  became  first  red 
as  crimson  and  then   pale  as  death  with  rage. 

"  Ha  !  "  said  the  colonel,  seeming  to  enjoy  the 
pallor  his  threat  had  produced,  and  which  he  mistook 


i84  Rory  O'More 

for  fear,  —  "  we  'II  see,  my  fine  fellow,  what  you 
think  of  the  hints  the  drummers  will  give  you  !  " 

In  an  instant  Rory's  invention  came  to  his  aid  ; 
and  though,  could  he  have  indulged  his  desire,  he 
would  have  had  the  colonel  placed  before  him  on 
equal  terms,  and  could  have  plucked  out  his  tyran- 
nous heart  for  the  degradation  he  would  inflict  on 
him,  still  he  kept  down  his  rising  wrath,  and  let 
finesse  accomplish  what  he  knew  force  could  never 
achieve  :  so,  with  as  much  calmness  as  he  could 
muster,  he  said,  — 

"  I  'd  be  sorry,  sir,  to  put  the  sarjeant  to  so  much 
throuble ;  and,  if  you  '11  be  good  enough  to  clear  the 
room,  I  '11  tell  you  something  you  'd  like  to  know, 
sir." 

"  You  may  tell  it  out  before  all,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  Plaze  your  honour,"  said  Rory,  who  now  had 
recovered  his  self-command,  and  enjoyed  the  thought 
of  foiling  cruelty  by  craft,  —  "your  honour,  it 's  some- 
thing you  would  n't  be  plaxed  every  one  should  hear." 

"  How  should  n't  I  be  pleased  ?  There  's  nothing 
you  can  tell,  fellow,  that  I  should  care  if  the  whole 
world  knew." 

"  Av  coorse  not,  your  honour,"  said  Rory  with 
affected  reverence ;  "  but  at  the  same  time,  if  you 
b'lieve  me,  sir,  it  will  be  betther  for  no  one  but 
yourself  to  know  of  it." 

"  Clear  the  room,  then,"  said  he  to  the  serjeant. 
"You  may  remain,  Mr.  Daw."  This  was  said  to 
the  ensign  who  was  officer  of  the  guard. 

"  No  one  but  yourself,  if  you  plaze,  your  honour," 
said  Rory. 

The  colonel  at  first  imagined  that  this  was  some 
desperate  fellow  who  had  concealed  arms  about 
him,  and  meant  to  take  his  life  ;  but  remembering  he 
had  been   searched   in  the  guard-house,  his  personal 


Rory  O'More  185 

security  no  longer  was  matter  of  question,  and  there 
was  a  certain  meaning  that  Rory  threw  into  his 
manner,  which  influenced  him  to  grant  the  prisoner's 
request  to  be  alone  with  him. 

"  Well,  what  's  this  wonderful  secret  you  've  to 
tell  ?  "  said  the  colonel  when  they  were   alone. 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  Rory,  affecting  great  embarrass- 
ment, and  rubbing  his  hand  up  and  down  the  table 
before  which  he  stood,  as  if  he  were  ashamed  of  what 
he  had  to  communicate,  "  I  'm  loath  to  tell  you 
a'most,  sir,  begging  your  honour's  pardon  ;  but " 

"  Quick,  sir,  quick  !  "   said  the  colonel  impatiently. 

"  It  's  all  thrue  what  I  towld  you,  sir,  about  bein'  a 
sthranger  in  the  town,  and  coming  over  jist  to " 

"The  fact,  sirrah!"  said  the  colonel,  —  "the 
fact,  —  tell   me  what  's   this  secret  of  yours  ?  " 

*'  Yis,  your  honour,  that 's  what  I  want  to  insense 
your  honour  about." 

"  You  'd  insense  any  one  with  your  delay,  fellow. 
Come  to  the  fact,  I  tell  you  —  What 's  this  secret  ?  " 

Rory  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  colonel  while  he  pro- 
ceeded, — 

"You  see,  sir  —  I  beg  your  honour's  pardon,  and 
hope    you  won't   be  offinded  with  me  —  but  in  the 

regard  of   Misther "and  he  lowered  his  voice 

to  a  mysterious  pitch. 

"  Who  ?  "  said  the  colonel,  on  whom  Rory  had 
his  eye  fixed    like  a  hawk. 

"  Misther  Scrubbs^  sir,"  said  Rory. 

The  colonel  winced  :  Rory  saw  he  had 

<*  'Tented  him  to  the  quick  ;  " 

and  now  felt  that  the  game  was  in  his  hands. 

"  What  of  him  ?  "  said  the  colonel  recovering  him- 
self,  but  yet  with  a  very  altered  X^nc  of  voice  to  that 
in  which  he  had  hitherto  pursued  his  interrogatories. 


i86  Rory  O'More 

"Why,  sir,  your  honour  —  you'll  excuse  me,  I 
hope, —  I  would  n't  offind  your  honour  for  the  world, 
—  but  I  thought  it  best  not  to  mention  any  thing 
about  it  while  the  people  was  here,  becaze  people  is 
curious  sometimes  and  might  be  makin'  their  re- 
marks •,  and  I  thought  I  could  betther  give  your 
honour  a  hint  when  nobody  would  be  the  wiser  of  it." 

"  I  'm  not  any  wiser  myself  of  it  yet,"  said  the 
colonel. 

"  No,  of  coorse,  your  honour,  seein'  I  was  loath  to 
mention  the  thing  a'most,  for  fear  of  your  honour 
thinkin'  I  was   takin'   a   liberty  ;   but  the  misthiss  — 

Misses    Scrubbs    I    mane,    your     honour "  and 

Rory   here   stuck    his    eyes    into    the    colonel    again. 

"Well?"   said  the  colonel. 

"  I  knew  she  was  over  here  with  a  fr'ind^  your 
honour,  and  I  knew  that  she  did  not  expec'  the 
masther   down  —  the  collecthor,  I  mane." 

"  Well,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  And  I  thought  it  best  to  tell  her  that  I  heerd 
the  masther  is  comin'  down  to-morrow,  and  av 
coorse  your  honour  knows  he  would  not  be  plazed  if 
the  misthiss  was  n't  in  the  place,  and  might  suspect^ 
or  the  like.      I  hope  your  honour  is  not  offinded." 

The  emphasis  on  '■'■  your  honour  knows"  and  "  5«j-- 
pect'^  was  accompanied  by  sly  smiles  and  winks,  and 
significant  nods ;  and  the  colonel  saw  clearly  that 
Rory  was  possessed  of  the  knowledge  of  his  intrigue 
with  Mrs.  Scrubbs,  and  that  the  best  thing  he  could 
do  was  to  make  him  his  friend ;  so  he  said  very 
gently,  — 

"  Offended  !  my  good  fellow,  not  at  all.  And  so 
you  came  over  to  tell  your  mistress  ?  " 

"  I  thought  it  best,  sir ;  for  indeed  she  is  a  pleasant 
lady,  and  I  would  n't  for  the  world  that  she  'd  get 
into  throuble,  nor  your  honour  aither." 


Rory  O'More  187 

"  Well,  here  's  something  to  drink  my  health." 

"  Oh,  your  honour,  sure  I  would  n't." 

"  I  insist  upon  it,"  said  the  colonel,  forcing  five 
guineas  into  Rory's  hand,  who  did  all  in  his  power 
not  to  take  them ;  for,  though  he  hesitated  not  to 
execute  this  manoeuvre  to  save  his  life,  he  did  not 
like  receiving  money  on  a  false  pretence. 

"  Indeed,  thin,  I  never  intended  to  take  money, 
nor  to  tell  your  honour  of  it  at  all  —  only  the 
misthiss,  but  for  the  quare  accident  that  brought  me 
before  your  honour." 

"  I  'm  glad  I  've  seen  you,"  said  the  colonel,  "  to 
reward  your  fidelity  to  your  mistress  :  she  shall  be 
home  before  to-morrow." 

"  Throth,  then,  I  pity  her  to  be  obleeged  to  lave 
so  iligant  a  gintleman." 

"  Hush  !  "   said  the  colonel. 

"  Mum !  "  said  Rory,  winking  and  laying  his 
finger  on  his  nose :  "  but  sure  you  're  the  divil  among 
the  women,  colonel !  " 

The  colonel  was  pleased  at  the  compliment  paid  to 
his  gallantry  ;  and  merely  saying  to  Rory,  "  Be  dis- 
creet," he  called  in  the  persons  who  were  waiting  in 
wonder  outside  to  know  what  important  communi- 
cation had  been  going  forward. 

"  This  man  is  free,"  said  the  colonel :  "  I  'm  quite 
satisfied  with  his  explanations.  And,  serjeant,  take 
him  with  you  to  the  adjutant's  office,  and  let  him 
have  a  pass." 

This  was  a  bit  of  finesse  on  the  colonel's  part,  to 
make  it  appear  that  it  was  on  public,  not  private 
grounds,  he  gave  Rory  his  freedom ;  for  at  this 
period,  a  pass  from  a  commanding  officer  empowered 
the  bearer  to  go  unmolested  at  all  hours,  and  was 
entrusted  only  to  emissaries  or  known  friends  of 
government. 


i88  Rory  O'More 

The  colonel  was  so  thrown  off  his  guard  by  Rory's 
ruse  de  guerre^  that  he  never  asked  his  name  ;  so  Rory 
obtained  his  pass  without  being  known,  and  then 
turned  his  face  homeward.  As  he  rattled  along  the 
road,  high  in  spirits,  as  men  always  are  when  they 
have  conquered  difficulties,  his  head  was  in  a  whirl  at 
the  retrospect  of  the  various  adventures  which  had 
befallen  him  within  four-and-twenty  hours. 

"  First,  I  meet  French  missionaries "  (he  meant 
emissaries,  but  no  matter),  — "  thin  I  get  all  the 
news  o'  what 's  goin'  on  that  will  astonish  the  world, 

—  thin  I  get  a  rale  letther  from  Gineral  Hoche  — 
Ah  !  there  's  the  murdher  !  —  the  letter's  gone.  Bad 
cess  to  it !  why  could  n't  I  conthrive  to  keep  it  ? 
But  no  matther —  afther  all,  it  might  be  worse,  sure; 
if  't  was  found  I  'd  be  hanged.  —  Not  that  I  'd  care  so 
much  for  that,  as  the  thing  being  blown.  —  Indeed,  I 
might  ha'  been  hanged  maybe,  afther  all ;  only  I 
knew  about  the  colonel's  purty  doings.  —  Well,  well, 

—  to  think  that  the  sins  of  one  woman  should  save 
the  life  of  another  man  !  But  that 's  the  will  o'  God 
and  the  blessed  Vargin.  —  And  to  think  I  should  not 
only  get  home  safe,  but  have  five  goolden  guineas  in 
my  pocket  into  the  bargain  !  —  Throth,  Rory,  luck 's 
on  your  side,  my  boy !  " 

Now,  it  was  not  merely  luck  was  on  Rory's  side, 
for  he  turned  all  the  accidents  to  good  account,  which 
would  have  been  thrown  away  on  a  fool;  and  this, 
after  all,  is  what  makes  the  difference,  in  ninety-nine 
cases  out  of  every  hundred,  between  a  lucky  and  an 
unlucky  man.  The  unlucky  man  often  plays  life's 
game  with  good  cards  and  loses ;  while  the  lucky 
man  plays  the  same  game  with  bad  ones,  and  wins. 
Circumstances  are  the  rulers  of  the  weak  j  —  they 
are  but  the  instruments  of  the  wise. 


CHAPTER   XV 

BEING    A    MIXTURE    OF    ROMANCE    AND    REALITY 

THE  interest  which  De  Lacy  felt  on  Ror)''s 
return,  in  listening  to  the  important  intelligence 
he  brought,  was  mingled  with  amusement  at  the  ad- 
venturous way  in  which  he  had  conducted  the  enter- 
prise. The  loss  of  the  letter  he  did  not  much  regard, 
as  the  most  valuable  information  it  could  have  con- 
veyed was  in  his  possession,  namely,  the  preparation 
of  the  extensive  armament  for  the  invasion  of  the 
island ;  and,  under  the  circumstances,  he  not  only  did 
not  blame  Rory  for  the  mishap,  but  gave  him  great 
credit  for  his  courage  and  intelligence  ;  for  Rorv  had 
communicated  to  him  every  particular  of  his  adven- 
tures. De  Lacy  blamed  De  Welskein  for  holding 
the  unlicensed  communion  Rory  described  in  his 
cellar,  and  assured  O'More  he  was  not  aware  that 
such  was  the  smuggler's  practice  when  he  sent  him 
on  his  mission. 

"You  don't  imagine,  Rorj',  that  I  would  counte- 
nance nor  be  the  companion  of  such  ruffians  ?  " 

"To  be  sure  you  would  n't,  sir,"  said  Rory;  "and 
I  hope  you  don't  think  I  'd  suppose  such  a  thing," 

"  No ;  but  as  you  were  sent  there  by  me,  1  wish 
you  to  understand " 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  don't  mind  such  a  thrifle,"  said  Rory. 

"  I  don't  think  it  a  trifle,"  said  De  Lacv. 

*'  But  sure,  if  it  was  vou  was  there,  of  coorse  he 
would  n't  have  done  the  like  by  you,  sir." 


I90  Rory  O'More 

"  He  dare  not,  the  rascal !  but  that 's  not  enough  ; 
he  should  n't  have  treated  my  agent  so :  but,  to 
be  sure,  in  these  affairs  one  must  not  be  too  par- 
ticular. They  say  poverty  makes  men  acquainted 
with  strange  bedfellows;  and  revolutions  must  do 
the  same  thing." 

Yet,  much  as  De  Lacy  strove  to  reconcile  the 
thing  to  his  feelings,  Lis  delicacy  revolted  at  the  scene 
of  brutal  debauch  that  Rory,  a  pure-hearted  peasant, 
was  made  the  witness  and  partly  the  partaker  of. 
De  Lacy  was  in  every  way  an  enthusiast :  he  believed 
in  that  high  standard  of  human  virtue  which  could 
sacrifice  all  for  virtue's  sake  ;  his  love  of  liberty  was 
pure,  —  unstained  by  one  unholy  motive,  and  how- 
ever much  he  might  be  blamed  by  those  who  thought 
the  cause  in  which  he  was  engaged  unjustifiable,  or 
even  flagitious,  his  motives  at  least  were  high  and 
noble :  they  might  be  called  mistaken,  but  not 
unworthy. 

His  profession  as  a  soldier,  his  present  exploit  as 
a  patriot,  and  his  love  as  a  man,  were  all  undertaken 
and  pursued  with  a  feeling  belonging  rather  to  the 
age  of  chivalry  than  the  time  in  which  he  lived.  Or 
it  might  be  perhaps  more  truly  said,  belonging  to  his 
own  particular  period  of  existence,  —  that  glorious 
spring-time  when  every  leaf  of  life  is  green,  and  the 
autumn  of  experience  has  not  laid  the  withering  tint 
of  distrust  upon  one.  The  age  of  s^hivalry,  did  I 
say  ?  Every  young  and  noble  heart  has  its  own  age 
of  chivalry  ! 

De  Lacy's  love  has  been  once  mentioned  before  — 
at  least  glanced  at ;  and  it  may  be  as  well  to  give 
some  slight  notion  of  that  event,  so  interesting  in 
most  people's  lives.  Not  that  De  Lacy's  love  has 
much  to  do  with  the  events  about  to  be  recorded ;  but 
as  it  will  be  necessary  to  touch  upon  it  perhaps  else- 


Rory  O'More  191 

where,  the  reader  mav  just  be  given  a  peep  into  the 
affair:  besides,  it  will  help  to  exhibit  the  refined 
nature  of  De  Lacy's   mind. 

He  had  left  behind  him  in  Paris  a  girl  to  whom  he 
was  deeply  attached,  and  by  whom  he  believed  him- 
self to  be  ardently  beloved.  But  Adele  Verbigny 
was  unworthv  of  such  a  love  as  De  Lacy's,  inasmuch 
as  she  could  not  understand  it.  Love  was  with  her 
a  necessity  :  she  thought  it  quite  indispensable  that 
every  young  lady  should  have  a  lover ;  and  if  that 
lover  was  a  hero,  so  much  the  better.  Now,  De 
Lacv  happened  to  be  a  handsome  fellow  and  a  soldier ; 
and  when  he  volunteered  to  undertake  the  dangerous 
mission  to  Ireland,  she  was  charmed,  because  that 
her  Horace  should  be  the  "  saviour  of  a  nation,"  &c. 
&c.  she  considered  a  triumph  to  herself.  So,  babbling 
in  the  exaggerated  jargon  of  the  feverish  time  in  which 
she  spoke,  she  said  she  offered  up  the  hopes  of  her 
heart  upon  the  altar  of  Freedom,  and  desired  him  go 
and  disenthral  his  native  land  from  the  yoke  of 
tvrannv,  and  return  crowned  with  laurels  to  enjoy 
her  love. 

De  Lacy  believed  the  little  Parisian  felt  all  she 
said,  and  loved  her  better  than  ever.  While  he  was 
yet  uncertain  of  the  moment  of  his  departure,  he 
received  a  peremptorv  summons  from  the  Director)^  to 
start  immediately  with  a  government  courier  to  the 
coast.  He  hastened  to  the  house  of  Adele  to  take 
a  tender  farewell.  Her  mother  met  him  as  he  entered 
the  apartment. 

"  Hush  !  "   said  she  ;  "  Adele  sleeps." 

"  I  have  not  a  moment  to  wait,"  said  De  Lacy ; 
"  I  'm  summoned  on  the   instant  to  depart." 

"  You  see  she  sleeps,"  said  the  mother :  "  she  cried 
so  much  last  night  at  the  separation  of  the  lovers  in 
the  play,  that  she  was  quite  overcome.      Her  nerves 


192  Rory  O'More 

have  been  shattered  all  day,  and  she  went  asleep  just 
now  on  the  sofa  to  restore  herself." 

"Sweet  soul!"  said  De  Lacy  —  "poor  Adele !  if 
she  wept  at  a  fictitious  separation,  what  would  she 
suffer  at  a  real  one  !  I  will  not  wake  her  —  no  — 
mine  be  the  pain  of  parting.  Tell  her,"  said  he 
tenderly,  and  he  looked  at  the  sleeping  girl  while  he 
spoke  to  her  mother,  — "  tell  her  I  go  to  fulfil  my 
duty  to  my  country.  I  will  return  with  its  blessings 
and  the  laurels  of  victory  to  lay  at  her  feet,  and  then 
I  shall  be  worthy  of  her."  He  knelt  to  kiss  her,  but 
paused.  "No,"  he  said,  "I  might  awake  her:  this 
is  all  I  shall  take,"  and  he  gently  drew  a  flower  from 
the  folds  of  her  dress,  —  "  't  is  a  type  of  her  beauty, 
her  sweetness,  and  her  innocence  !  "  He  then  rose 
and  hurried  to  depart.  "  Farewell,  mother,"  said 
he,  —  "permit  me  to  call  you  so,  —  and  tell  Adele 
why  I  would  not  wake  her;  and  will  she  not  love  me 
the  better  when  she  knows  how  much  I  renounced 
in  relinquishing  the  parting  charm  of  a  kiss  and  a 
blessing  from  her  own  bright  lips  !  "  He  could  trust 
himself  to  say  no  more,  but  he  rushed  from  the 
house. 

The  ravings  of  De  Lacy  during  his  dangerous  ill- 
ness had  been  divided  between  the  recollection  of 
Adele  and  anticipation  of  the  intended  revolutionary 
struggle.  On  his  recovery,  however,  his  mind  reverted 
more  pleasurably  to  the  former  subject  than  the  latter; 
for,  to  his  enfeebled  nerves,  love  was  a  theme  more 
congenial  than  war. 

In  such  a  frame  of  mind  it  was  that  De  Lacy  sat 
in  his  bedroom,  a  few  days  after  his  recovery,  with 
some  papers  lying  before  him,  and  his  eyes  resting 
on  the  flower  he  had  taken  from  the  bosom  of  Adele 
the  night  he  had  parted  from  her.  He  thought  of 
the  circumstances  of  that  parting  ;  and  as  the  sleep- 


Rory  0'Mo?^e  193 

ing  girl  was  recalled  to  his  fancy,  his  heart  went 
through  all  the  emotions  of  that  parting  again, 
through  the  influence  of  an  imagination  always  vivid, 
but  now  rendered  more  delicately  sensitive  through 
the  agency  of  that  susceptibility  of  nerve  which  the 
languor  succeeding  a  severe  illness  produces,  and  the 
fulness  of  his  heart  and  the  excitement  of  his  fancy 
found  vent  in  recording  his  farewell  and  the  emo- 
tions of  that  moment  in  verse  ;  and,  dedicating  to  his 
Adele  the  inspiration  of  his  muse,  he  wrote  the 
following  — 

SONG 


Sleep,  my  love  —  sleep,  my  love. 

Wake  not  to  weep,  my  love, 
Though  thy  sweet  eyes  are  all  hidden  frojn  me: 

Why  shouldst  thou  waken  to  sorrows  like  mine,  love. 

While  thou  may'st,  in  dreaming,  taste  pleasure,  divine,  love  ? 

For  blest  are  the  visions  of  slumbers  like  thine,  love  — 
So  sleep  thee,  nor  know  who  says  "  Farewell  to  thee!  " 


Sleep,  my  love  — sleep,  my  love. 
Wake  not  to  weep,  my  love. 

Though  thy  sweet  eyes  are  all  hidden  from  me: 
Hard  't  is  to  part  without  one  look  of  kindness. 
Yet  sleep  more  resembles  fond  love  in  its  blindness, 
And  thy  look  would  enchain  me  again  ;  I  find  less 

Of  pain  to  say,  "  Farewell,  sweet  siumb'rer,  to  thee!  " 

Thus,  in  writing  and  reading,  —  for  De  Lacy  had 
a  few  choice  books  with  him,  —  some  days  were 
passed ;  but  his  strength  began  to  return,  and  he  was 
soon  able  to  walk  abroad.  In  his  rambles,  a  book 
was  mostly  his  companion;  and  it  was  the  frequency 
of  his  being  observed  by  the  country  people  in  the 
VOL.  I. — 13 


194  Rory  O'More 

act  of  reading  that  he  obtained  the  name  of  "  the 
Scholar,"  for  so  he  became  universally  called  by 
the  peasants,  who  liked  him  for  his  courteous  manner, 
and  the  freedom  with  which  he  conversed  with  them. 
Who  and  what  he  was,  they  did  not  care  :  but  not 
so  little  Sweeny  and  Scrubbs,  who  used  to  exchange 
mutual  "  wonders  "  with  each  other  as  to  "  What 
the  deuce  he  could  be  ?  —  What  brought  him  there  ? 
—  What  he  was  about  ?  "  &c.  &c.,  and  the  conclu- 
sion they  always  arrived  at  was,  both  shaking  their 
heads  very  significantly,  and  saying,  "  Very  odd !  " 
De  Lacy  avoided  the  village  in  his  walks.  In  the 
first  place,  the  retirement  of  the  quiet  banks  of  the 
river,  or  the  wildness  of  the  hills  above  it,  was  more 
congenial  to  his  temper ;  and  secondly,  he  wished 
to  keep  himself  beyond  the  range  of  observation  as 
much  as  possible.  With  reading  and  sketching,  and 
making  short  excursions  into  the  adjacent  country, 
his  days  passed  pleasantly  enough,  while  all  the  time 
he  was  taking  note  of  what  he  saw  and  heard  ;  for 
though  the  expected  assistance  from  the  Texel,  of 
which  he  was  in  daily  hopes  of  receiving  intelligence, 
rendered  it  unnecessary  to  write  to  General  Clarke 
on  the  subject,  as  the  blow  he  expected  would  be 
struck  without  any  urgency  on  his  part,  yet  his  own 
anxiety  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  the  internal  state 
of  the  country  stimulated  his  inquiries.  Old  Phelim, 
the  schoolmaster,  was  often  questioned  on  such 
matters  :  and  his  oddity  amused,  while  his  informa- 
tion  satisfied,  De  Lacy. 

It  might  be  supposed  by  the  general  reader  that, 
engaged  in  such  a  cause  as  De  Lacy  then  was,  an 
introduction  to  the  parish  priest  would  have  been 
held  desirable  ;  but  it  was  not  so  —  far  from  it.  De 
Lacy,  in  common  with  all  the  leaders  of  the  political 
P'-ovement    then   going    forward    in   Ireland,   desired 


Rory  0' More  195 

to  shun  by  every  possible  means  any  contact  with 
the  priesthood.  The  results  of  the  French  Revolu- 
tion had  given  the  alarm  to  the  clergy  of  all  de- 
nominations ;  and  the  Irish  Roman  Catholic  priest, 
so  far  from  countenancing  the  introduction  of  revolu- 
tionary principles  into  Ireland,  had  refused  absolu- 
tion to  "  The  Defenders,"  a  political  union  formed 
amongst  the  lower  orders  of  the  Catholic  Irish,  to 
protect  themselves  from  the  aggressions  of  the  "  Peep- 
o'-day  Boys,"  who  were  Protestants  and  Pfesbyterians. 
The  dominant  party  in  Ireland  have  endeavoured  to 
propagate  the  belief  that  the  rebellion  of  1798  was 
of  religious  origin,  and  put  in  practice  for  the  murder 
of  all  the  Protestants  in  Ireland  :  but  what  is  the 
fact  ?  The  society  of  United  Irishmen  was  first 
established  in  the  North  of  Ireland,  where  the  ma- 
jority of  the  population  was  Protestant  and  Presby- 
terian. It  was  by  Protestants  and  Presbyterians  the 
society  was  founded,  and  Protestants  and  Presby- 
terians were  its  principal  leaders.  So,  to  credit  the 
Orange  account  of  the  affair,  we  must  believe  that 
the  Protestants  originated  the  ingenious  device  of 
organising  a  revolution  to   murder   themselves  ! 

The  truth  is,  the  revolution  then  contemplated  was 
purely  political.  When  the  repeated  calls  for  reform 
in  the  Irish  parliament  and  a  repeal  of  the  penal  laws 
against  Catholics  were  refused  till  disappointment 
grew  into  despair,  then,  and  not  till  then,  did  the 
people  coalesce  to  take  by  force  what  they  had  vainly 
sought  by  petition.  The  Catholics,  from  the  very 
nature  of  their  religion,  which  teaches  such  tame 
submission  to  authority,  would  never  have  dared  to 
rebel.  It  was  the  stern  Presbyterians,  reformers  by 
descent,  that  organised  the  movement  to  relieve  Ire- 
land from  the  political  degradation  in  which  she  then 
was   prostrated,  and    long   oppression   at   last    roused 


196  Rory  O'More 

the    Roman   Catholics  to  make  common  cause  with 
them. 

These  facts  I  mention,  lest  it  might  be  considered 
inconsistent  that  De  Lacy  should  not  have  been  in 
league  with  Father  Kinshela,  who,  so  far  from  coun- 
tenancing the  influence  of  Frenchmen  in  Ireland, 
considered  the  Gallic  revolution  and  all  its  emissaries 
to  be  quite  as  pestilential  as  they  were  deemed  to 
be  by  the  stanchest  Protestant  in  the  land. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

AN  "  IRISH  "  FAIR    WITH   ONLY  "  ONE  "  FIGHT  IN    IT. 
—  DE  WELSKEIN's    metamorphoses.    —  LEARNED 

PIGS.  ROASTED    DUCKS.  LOVE    AND    MURDER, 

ETC.  ETC. 

DE  LACY  had  been  for  some  days  in  expectation 
of  going  to  a  neighbouring  fair,  which  has  the 
reputation  of  being  a  scene  of  great  merriment  in 
Ireland,  and  a  very  characteristic  thing  ;  and  as  he 
had  never  witnessed  such  a  meeting,  his  curiosity  was 
not  a  little  excited.  It  was  agreed  that  he  and  Rory, 
as  well  as  his  sister,  with  her  suitor  Conolly,  —  who, 
by  the  way,  was  not  a  favoured,  though  a  devoted 
lover,  —  should  form  a  party,  to  which  Phelim 
O'Flanagan  begged  to  be  added,  and  the  request  was 
granted. 

"  You  must  not  expect,  though,"  said  Rory,  ad- 
dressing De  Lacy,  "  that  we  '11  have  as  much  fun  as 
usual ;  for,  you  see,  the  people  being  more  united^ 
they  won't  fight  as  much  as  they  do  in  common,  and 
the  factions  is  laid  down  by  common  consint  until 
matthers  get  smooth  again  ;  —  and  when  we  have 
justice  and  happiness  among  us  once  more,  why  thin 
we  can  enjoy  our  private  battles  according  to  the 
good  owld   fashion." 

"  That 's  the  thing  that  surprises  me,"  said  De 
Lacy,  —  "  why  you  are  so  fond  of  factions.  You 
are  good-humoured  and   pleasant  fellows  enough  indi- 


198  Rory  O'More 

vidually ;  but  when  a  set  of  you  get  together,  you 
scarcely  ever   part   without    fighting." 

"  Why,  you  see,  sir,"  said  Phehm,  "  it  is  the  nature 
of  man  to  be  disputaarious  in  their  various  degrees, — 
kings  for  kingdoms  —  scholars  for  argument,  and 
so  an ;  and  the  disputaariousness  of  human  nathur 
is  as  like  to  brake  out  about  which  barony  is  the  best 
ball-players  or  hurlers,  as  if  Roosia  vindicated  Proosia, 
or  Proosia  vindicated  Roosia :  for  you  know,  sir,  be- 
ing a  scholar,  that  the  vindicativeness  of  nations  to 
aitch  other  is  no  more  than  the  vindicativeness  of  the 
human  heart,  which  is  as  demonstherated  in  a  parish, 
or  a  barony,  or  a  townland,  or  the  like,  as  in  the  more 
circumscribed  circle  of  an  impire,  or  a  principalatine, 
all  as  one  as  a  circle  is  a  circle,  whatever  the  size 
of  it  may  be,  from  a  platther  up  to  a  cart-wheel. 
Q.  E.  D.  What  was  to  be  demonsthrated  !  "  and 
Phelim   took   snufF,  as   usual. 

''  Admirably  demonstrated  indeed  !  "  said  De  Lacy, 
maintaining  his  gravity  ;  "  but,  if  the  matter  in  dispute 
be  ball-playing  or  wrestling,  would  not  the  surest 
method  of  settling  the  business  be,  to  play  an  equal 
match  of  either  of  the  given  games,  instead  of  beating 
each  other  ?  " 

"  Arrah,    what   else   do    we   do  ?  "    said    Rory. 

"  You   always   fight   instead." 

"  But  how  can  we  help  that  ?  Sure,  we  always  do 
challenge  each  other  to  play  a  match  of  ball  or  hurl- 
ing, and  thin,  in  the  coorse  of  play,  one  man  gives  a 
false  ball,  or  another  cuts  it,  and  thin  there  's  a  dis- 
pute about  it  ;  or  in  hurlin',  the  same  way,  in  the 
hate  of  the  game,  maybe  the  fellow  before  you  is  jist 
goin'  to  have  the  ball  all  to  himself,  and  you  afther 
him,  hot  foot,  what  can  you  do  but  give  him  a  thrip  ? 
and  away  he  goes  head  over  heels,  and  if  he  's  not 
disabled,  there  's  a  chance  he  loses  his  timper,  and 


Rory  O'More  199 

comes  to  thrip  you,  —  when,  maybe  he  is  not  so  ne- 
cessiated  to  thrip  you  as  you  wor  to  thrip  him^  and 
that  does  n't  stand  to  rayson  in  your  opinion,  and 
maybe  you  can't  help  givin'  him  a  clip  o'  the  hurl, 
and  down  he  goes ;  and  thin,  maybe,  one  o'  his 
barony  sees  that,  and  does  n't  think  it  raysonable,  and 
slaps  at  you^  —  and  so  on  it  goes  like  fire  among  flax, 
and  the  plav  turns  into  a  fight  in  no  time ;  and, 
indeed,  in  the  long-run  we  find  't  is  the  best  way  of 
arguin'  the  point,  —  for  there  might  be  some  fractious 
sperits  would  dispute  about  the  fairness  o'  this  play, 
or  the  fairness  o'  that  play,  and  that  it  was  an  acci- 
dent settled  the  game ;  but  when  it  comes  to  rale 
fightin',  there  can  be  no  words  about  it, —  for,  you 
see,  when  you  dhrive  every  mother's  son  o'  them 
before  you,  and  fairly  leather  them  out  o'  the  field, 
there  can  be  no  mistake  about  it." 

"  But  does  not  that  produce  bad  blood  amongst 
you  ?  "   said  De  Lacy. 

"  By  no  manes,"  said  Rory ;  "  why  should  it  ? 
Sure,  have  n't  they  the  chance  of  wollopin'  us  the 
next  time  ?  " 

"And  that  perpetuates  the  dispute,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Rory,  "  that 's  the  fun  of  it. 
Oh,  it  would  only  be  a  cowardly  thing  to  be  always 
fightin'  a  party  you  were  sure  to  bate  !  —  there  would 
be  an  end  of  the  glory  intirely." 

"  All  party,"  thought  De  Lacy,  "  is  like  Rory's 
game  of  hurling  ;  those  who  are  out  endeavour  to  trip 
up  those  who  are  /«,  —  and,  in  conclusion,  the  only 
game  left  is  to  leather  them  out  of  the  field ;  when  there 
can  be  no  mistake  about  it." 

It  was  the  next  day  following  Rory's  and  Phelim's 
eloquent,  lucid,  and  reasonable  exposition  of  the  ne- 
cessity and  propriety  of  party  fights,  that  the  fair  was 
holden,  and  the  party,  as  already  named,  started  for 


200  Rory  O'More 

the  scene  of  amusement ;  —  Conolly  having  the 
honour  of  being  gentleman  in  waiting  on  Mary 
O'More,  handing  her  over  stiles,  &c. ;  Phelim  and 
Rory   bearing  De  Lacy  company. 

On  arriving  at  the  scene  of  action,  they  found  the 
fair  tolerably  "  throng,"  as  the  phrase  is  in  Ireland ; 
and  the  moment  they  were  well  on  the  ground, 
Conolly  commenced  the  series  of  gallantries  which 
every  aspirant  to  a  pretty  girl's  favour  goes  through 
on  a  fair-day,  by  buying  a  large  stock  of  gingerbread 
cakes,  which  appeared  to  have  been  made  of  brown 
paper  and  treacle,  and  apples  to  match,  and  requesting 
the  whole  party,  including  De  Lacy,  who  was  most 
politely  solicited,  to  partake  of  the  feast.  Now,  when 
people  are  at  fairs,  it  is  a  point  of  honour  to  eat  and 
drink,  and  see  all  that  you  can,  —  in  short,  till  you 
can  eat,  and  drink,  and  see  no  more;  and  all  the  party 
present,  except  De  Lacy,  seemed  determined  their 
honour  should  not  be  called  in  question.  The  cake 
and  apple  stands  were  generally  formed  by  the  com- 
mon car  of  the  country  being  backed  into  whatever 
position  it  could  take  up  on  the  fair-ground  ;  and  the 
horse  being  unyoked,  a  forked  pole  of  sufficient 
strength  was  stuck  in  the  ground,  and  the  back-band 
of  the  car  being  deposited  between  the  prongs,  it  at 
once  obtained  support ;  after  which  some  wattles 
(long  supple  boughs)  being  bent  over  the  vehicle,  a 
quilt  was  thrown  across  these  rustic  rafters,  to  form 
an  awning,  and  the  cakes  and  apples  were  spread  on 
some  sacks,  perhaps,  or  something  equally  coarse,  — 
any  thing,  in  short,  to  cover  the  bare  boards  of  the 
car,  that  probably  carried  a  load  of  sand  or  earth,  or 
something  not  so  agreeable,  the  day  before,  and  was 
now  at  once  converted  into  a  cake-shop.  In  one 
corner  of  the  concern,  a  glass  and  a  black  bottle, 
with  something  in  it,  were  to  be  seen ;  and  under  the 


Rory  O'More  201 

car,  from  the  middle  of  a  bundle  of  straw,  you  might 
perceive  the  muzzle  of  a  large  jar  protruding,  whence 
the  black  bottle  could  be  replenished  as  occasion 
required. 

Booths  were  erected  for  the  accommodation  of  those 
v/ho  chose  to  dance,  and  drink  to  refresh  themselves  ; 
and  both  these  amusements,  —  that  is  to  say,  dancing 
and  drinking,  —  seemed  to  be  the  staple  commodities 
of  the  fair,  even  at  an  early  hour ;  but  the  dancing- 
tents  were  not  in  their  full  glory  till  much  later  in 
the  day. 

There  was  throwing  for  gingerbread,  and  other 
amusements  incidental  to  such  scenes ;  but  nothing 
very  stirring  in  this  line  seemed  as  yet  to  have  set  in. 
So  the  party  strolled  on  through  the  crowd  ;  Rory  re- 
marking to  De  Lacy  as  they  went,  that  he  told  him 
there  would  be  little  or  no  fun  —  "  And  you  see  how 
quiet  they  are,"  said  Rory. 

"  God  save  you,  Phelim,"  said  a  well-dressed  peasant. 

"  God  save  you  kindly,"  answered  Phelim. 

"  How  does  the  gossoons  do  without  you,  Phelim, 
agra  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  gev  the  craythurs  a  holiday,"  said  Phelim. 
"  I  don't  like  to  be  too  hard  on  them.  Exercise 
is  good  for  the  gossoons  when  they  are  at  college, 
for  larnin'  lies  heavy  on  the  stomach." 

"  Thrue  for  you,  Phelim.  Not  that  I  know  much 
about  larnin' ;  but  1  know  you  must  n't  brake  the 
heart  of  a  young  cowlt." 

And  so  saying,  off  Phelim's  friend  went. 

They  now  approached  a  portion  of  the  fair  where 
sales  of  cattle  were  going  forward. 

"  How  is  the  bastes  goin'  ?  "  said  Rory  to  a  farmer. 

"  Indeed,  it 's  back  they  'II  be  goin',"  said  the 
farmer  :  "  there  's  no  prices  at  all  here  —  that  is,  for 
bastes;    but  1  hear  pigs  is  lively." 


202  Rory  O'More 

"  What 's  thim  I  see  up  on  the  hill  ?  "  said  Rory. 
••'  Is    it    sogers  ?  " 

''  No  less,"  said  the  farmer ;  "  though,  indeed, 
they  might  save  themselves  the  throuble,  —  they  kem 
here  to  watch  us  ;  but  there  won't  be  a  blow  sthruck 
to-day." 

"  Thrue  for  you,"  said  Rory  ;  and  so  they  parted. 

They  next  approached  a  show-box,  where  an  ex- 
hibition of  Punch  and  Judy  seemed  to  give  great 
amusement.  That  interesting  domestic  history  was 
about  half-way  through  when  our  hero  and  his  party 
arrived  ;  and  Rory  had  been  telling  in  a  hasty  manner 
to  Mary  the  nature  of  Punch's  adventures,  as  they 
approached.  "  Make  haste,  now,"  said  Rory,  "  for 
it 's  better  nor  a  play.  I  seen  a  play  when  I  was  in 
Dublin ;  but  Punch  and  Judy  is  worth  two  of  it. 
Run  !  run  !  there  he  is  goin'  to  kill  his  wife  and  child, 
the  comical  owld  blackguard  !  " 

They  arrived  in  time  to  witness  the  death  of  Mrs. 
Punch  and  the  child,  and  then  the  doctor  was  sent 
for.  The  doctor  made  his  appearance ;  and  Punch, 
after  his  legitimate  squeak  began, 

"  Docta-w-r  !  " 

"  Sare  ?  "  said  the  doctor. 

*'  Can  you  cure  my  wife  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sare." 

"  What  will  you  give  her  ?  " 

''  Some  ghost's  milk." 

Rory  started,  "  By  all  that 's  good  that 's  himself!  " 
said  he. 

"  Why,  is  it  a  rale  docthor  ?  "  said  Mary. 

"No,    no,"    said  Rory.     "I   was   only "   he 

paused,  and  withdrawing  from  Mary,  he  beckoned 
De  Lacy  from  the  group,  and  said,  "  That 's  Mr. 
Devilskin  that 's  there,"  pointing  to  the  show-box. 

"  Where  ?  "    said  De  Lacy. 


Rory  O'More  203 

"  There,"  said  Rory,  pointing  again  ;  "  inside  the 
show-box.  I  'd  take  my  oath  it 's  him.  I  thought  I 
knew  his  voice  at  first,  but  I'd  sware  to  the  ghost's 
milk" 

And  so  it  was  De  Welskein.  It  has  been  said  he 
was  fond  of  intrigue  and  adventure,  and  he  was  quite 
in  his  element  in  thus  masquerading  it  through  the 
country ;  and  while  he  was  sowing  rebellion  from  his 
love  of  revolution,  and  reaping  profit  from  his  tobacco, 
it  was  pride  and  glory  to  him  to  be  playing  the  buf- 
foon at  the  same  time,  which  was  at  once  a  source  of 
pleasure  and  security ;  for  the  smuggler  was  never 
long  in  one  spot,  but  changing  to  different  places  in 
different  characters. 

"  I  want  to  see  him,"  said  De  Lacy,  "  and  am 
glad  of  this  chance-meeting.  We  must  watch  an 
opportunity  to  speak  to  him  when  the  show  is  over." 

While  they  were  waiting  for  this,  a  group  of  horse- 
men approached  the  show,  and  Rory  amongst  them 
saw  Squire  Ransford,  the  parson.  Sweeny,  and  Scrubbs; 
the  latter  engaged  in  conversation  with  "  the  colonel," 
—  he  who  had  given  Rory  his  freedom  and  his  pass. 
Rory  saw  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  retreat,  as, 
if  he  were  seen,  his  whole  finesse  about  Mrs.  Scrubbs 
would  be  blown,  he  would  get  into  trouble,  and  his 
name  be  in  the  colonel's  possession,  who,  it  will  be 
remembered,  had  never,  in  his  hurry  to  dismiss  our 
hero,  asked  who  he  was.  Therefore,  screening  him- 
self behind  De  Lacy,  he  told  him  how  matters  stood, 
and  taking  Mary  and  Conolly  with  him,  he  left  De 
Lacy  with  Phelim  for  a  guide. — "  If  we  don't  meet 
again  in  the  fair,"  said  Rory,  "  we  must  only  wait  till 
we  go  home;"  and  he  retired  rapidly  from  the  spot 
unobserved  by  the  horsemen  who  had  caused  his 
sudden  retreat.  Appointing  then  a  place  of  rendez- 
vous  with    Mary  and   Conolly,  Rory  left  them,  and 


204  Rory  O'More 

they  returned  to  witness  the  finale  of  Punch  and 
Judy. 

Rory  pushed  his  way  through  the  principal  row  of 
booths,  where  the  dancing  and  drinking  were  going 
on  prosperously,  and  entering  that  under  whose  sign 
his  appointed  meeting  with  his  sister  and  her  cavalier 
was  to  take  place,  he  sat  down,  and  calling  for  a 
small  portion  of  drink,  refreshed  himself,  intending 
when  that  was  over  to  rest  himself  with  dancing. 
While  he  sat,  he  perceived  Regan  and  Kathleen  enter 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  booth,  and  his  heart  bounded 
at  the  sight  of  the  girl  he  loved  ;  but  his  joy  was 
damped  at  the  thought  that  in  her  brother's  presence 
he  had  better  not  approach  her.  To  his  unspeakable 
joy,  however,  he  saw  Regan  depart,  leaving  Kathleen, 
after  speaking  a  few  words  to  her ;  and  when  he  was 
some  seconds  gone,  Rory  moved  towards  the  girl  of 
his  heart  gaily,  and,  as  her  head  was  turned  away,  he 
proposed  surprising  her  by  his  presence;  so  approach- 
ing unobserved,  he  tapped  her  smartly  on  the  shoulder, 
and  had  his  most  winning  smile  ready  to  meet  her 
when  she  should  turn.  When  she  did  turn,  instead 
of  the  flush  of  joy  which  Rory  anticipated,  a  deadly 
paleness  and  a  look  of  reserve  were  on  the  counte- 
nance of  Kathleen,  and  Rory's  blood  ran  cold  to  his 
heart. 

"  What 's  the  matther,  Kathleen  dear  ? "  said 
Rory.  —  Kathleen   could  not  answer. 

"  What  is  the  matther  !  —  for  God's  sake,  tell 
me ! "  said  Rory  impressively,  for  he  saw  by  the 
girl's  manner  that  an  unfavourable  impression  had 
been  made  upon   her  as  regarded  him. 

"  Rory,"  said  Kathleen  with  that  reproachful  tone 
which  an  offended  woman  only  can  assume, — 
"  Rory,"   said  she,  "  need  you   ask  me  ?  " 

"  What  have  I  done,  Kathleen  jewel  ?  " 


Rory  O'More  205 

"  Oh,  Rory  !  so  soon  to  desaive  and  think  light 
o'   me!" 

"  Me,  Kathleen  !  —  by  all  that  's  good " 

"  Whisht,  Rory  —  whisht  !  — swaring  won't  make 
it  betther." 

"  But  what  is  it,  Kathleen  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Rory  !  don't  be  so  desaitful.  You  know 
you  've  wronged  me  !  " 

''  By  this  blessed  light  !  I  never  wronged  you, 
Kathleen!"  —  There  was  something  bearing  such 
inherent  evidence  of  sincerity  in  Rory's  manner,  that 
Kathleen  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  looked  inquir- 
ingly into  his  face  ;  but  suddenly  withdrawing  her 
eyes  and  dropping  her  voice,  she  said,  "  I  'd  willingly 
b'lieve  you,  Rory,  —  but " 

"  But  what  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"I  don't  like  to  accuse  you,  but  you  know " 

again  she  paused, 

*'  What  ?  "  said  Rory  impatiently. 

"  The  cellar,"  said  Kathleen.  —  The  word  was 
enough.  With  all  that  magic  rapidity  of  thought 
which  instantaneously  links  a  chain  of  circumstances 
together,  Rory  saw  that  his  conduct  in  De  Welskein's 
cellar  had  been  misrepresented  ;  and  when  he  remem- 
bered how  the  girl  he  had  danced  with  had  fastened 
herself  upon  him,  he  could  not  but  see  that  circum- 
stances might  be  made  to  bear  hard  against  him  in 
the  opinion  of  the  woman  he  was  courting  —  he 
was  silenced  by  Kathleen's  one  word  —  and  she  mis- 
taking his  silence  for  guilt,  was  rising  to  leave  the 
booth,  when  Rory,  taking  her  hand  and  pressing  it 
closely,  said, 

"  Kathleen,  you  wrong  me ;  I  know  what  you 
mane,  but " 

"  Let  go  my  hand,"  said  Kathleen.  "  You  had 
betther  look  for  the    hand  of   the  lady   you   like  so 


2o6  Rory  O'More 

much;  I  b'lieve  you  can  find  her  in  the  fair;  "  and 
she  again  made  an  efFort  to  go,  but  Rory  still  detained 
her. 

"  Kathleen,"  said  he,  "  it  is  only  Shan  Dhu  could 
tell  you  this,  and  I  did  not  think  he  had  so  black  a 
heart  ;   for  by  this  light " 

"  Whisht  !  "  said  Kathleen  in  terror,  "  lave  me, 
lave  me;  Shan  is  coming  back — I  see  him." 

"  Well,  promise  to  meet  me  till  I  clear  myself  to 
you." 

"  Rory,  don't  be  sthriving  to  desaive  a  poor  girl  — 
go,  I  tell  you." 

"  I  won't  go  unless  you   promise." 

''  If  you  've  any  pity  for  me,  go ;  Shan  is  close 
by." 

"  Promise  !  "   said    Rory   impressivelv. 

"  I  vi'ill,  then,"  said   Kathleen   faintly. 

''  Meet  me  by  the  rath,  near  the  bridge,"  said 
Rory,  *'  to-morrow  evening.  God  bless  you,  Kath- 
leen, and  never  b'lieve  I  have  the  heart  base  enough 
to   wrong  you  !  " 

So  saying,  he  kissed  her  hand  passionately  before 
she  could  withdraw  it,  and  slipping  out  through  an 
opening  in  the  side  of  the  booth,  he  left  it  without 
being  perceived  by  Regan.  Poor  Rory  was  heartsick 
at  the  thought  of  Kathleen's  coldness,  and  he 
looked  forward  with  the  impatience  and  longing  of  a 
child  for  the  morrow's  evening,  which  he  hoped  would 
serve  to  chase  every  doubt  from  her  mind.  While 
he  was  moving  through  the  crowd,  his  attention  was 
attracted  by  a  party  of  mummers,  who  were  parading 
up  and  down  on  a  platform,  in  dirty  rags  sprinkled 
with  rusty  spangles,  and  amongst  them  he  recognised 
the  girl  that  had  been  so  sweet  on  him  in  the  cellar; 
he  then  remembered  Kathleen's  saying,  "  I  b'lieve 
you  can  find  her  in  the  fair,"  and  the  thought  struck 


Rory  O'More  207 

him  that  Regan  might  have  even  pointed  out  the 
flourishing  damsel  before  him  as  his  paramour,  and 
Rorv's  shame  was  increased,  for,  with  her  ruddled 
cheeks,  short  'petticoats,  and  shabby  finery,  she  was  a 
most  disgusting  object,  though  rather  a  fine  girl. 
While  Rory  looked  at  her,  he  fancied  he  caught  her 
eye  ;  and  its  brazen  glare  was  for  a  moment  darkened 
by  a  demoniac  expression,  and  instantly  withdrawn. 
He  wished  more  and  more  for  the  evening  of  the 
morrow.  On  he  went  through  the  main  chain  of 
tents,  but  seeing  the  squire  and  colonel  approaching 
again,  he  took  a  short  turn  round  one  of  the  booths 
and  avoided  them  ;  and  making  a  detour,  he  returned 
to  the  place  where  he  had  appointed  Mary  and 
Conolly  to  meet  him,  where  he  found  them  waiting. 
Joining  company,  they  commenced  another  ramble 
through  the  fair,  and  at  length  reached  a  booth  whence 
there  proceeded  much  laughter,  and  at  the  door  of 
which  a  bespangled  buffoon  was  inviting  the  people 
to  enter  and  see  the  wonderful  conjuror  who  could 
tell  fortunes  on  cards  and  cure  all  sorts  of  diseases. 
This  promised  much  diversion,  and  the  laughter  con- 
tinuing to  appeal  to  the  curiosity  of  those  outside,  a 
fresh  party,  including  our  hero,  his  sister,  and  her 
admirer,  entered.  Here  they  saw  a  man  in  a  bag-wig 
and  cocked-hat,  laced  coat  and  ruffles,  performing 
various  sleight-of-hand  tricks  with  cards,  and  other 
feats  of  legerdemain  ;  and  after  making  his  beholders' 
eyes  the  size  of  saucers  with  wonder,  and  their  mouths 
of  equal  capacity,  he  proceeded  to  offer  for  sale  various 
nostrums  for  the  cure  of  diseases  ;  amongst  others, 
he  produced  one  which  he  protested  most  solemnly 
was  superior  to  ghost's  milk. 

"  Devilskin  again  !  "  said  Rory  to  himself;  "  Devil- 
skin,  sure  enough !  —  more  than  the  skin,  by  my 
sowl,  for  I  think  he  's  the  d — 1  himself!  " 


2o8  Rory  O'More 

Here  was  another  metamorphose  of  the  French- 
man. He  was  in  his  glory  :  he  had  a  stall  in  the 
fair,  in  good  hands,  for  the  sale  of  tobacco,  and  he 
was  masquerading  it  and  making  money  in  another 
quarter  :  a  French  agent  in  the  middle  of  the  fair, 
where  the  army  were  lookers-on  to  see  that  no  mis- 
chief was  going  forward  ;  —  this  was  his  glory,  the 
intrigue  and  romance  delighted    him. 

Rory  left  the  booth  —  he  did  not  wish  to  meet  De 
Welskein's  eye  :  ijot  that  he  feared  him  —  he  could 
not  tell  very  well  himself  the  precise  cause  of  his  dis- 
like to  be  recognised  by  the  smuggler;  but  there  was 
an  undefined  feeling  about  Rory,  that  rather  shrunk 
from  having  any  thing  to  do  with  one  who  seemed 
invested  with  mysterious  power. 

He  awaited  outside  the  booth  the  egress  of  his  sister 
and  Conolly,  who  suggested  that  it  was  time  to  get 
something  for  dinner.  To  this  Rory  assented  ;  for, 
notwithstanding  that  his  meeting  with  Kathleen  had 
damped  his  enjoyment,  his  appetite  was  of  too  keen 
and  hale  a  nature  to  be  influenced  by  a  frown  from 
his  mistress,  as  those  of  more  refined  lovers  are  said 
to  be. 

"  Not  that  I  'm  very  hungry,"  said  Rory. 

"  'Faith,  then  I  am,"  said  Conolly ;  "  for  exceptin' 
five  or  six  dozen  o'  gingerbread  and  a  score  o'  apples 
or  so,  between  us,  Mary  and  I  have  not  tasted  any 
thing  to  signify." 

"  You  were  drinking  my  health  very  often,  too," 
said   Mary. 

"  Phoo,  —  what  signifies  three  or  four  quarts  o' 
porther !  " 

While  we  leave  this  hungry  party  looking  for  their 
dinner,  let  us  return  to  De  Lacy  and  Phelim,  whom 
we  left  opposite  De  Welskein's  show-box. 

De  Lacy  took  his  opportunity  of  speaking  to  the 


Rory  O'More  209 

smuggler,  whom  he  followed  by  signal  to  a  booth  ; 
and  leaving  Phelim  standing  outside,  he  entered  the 
booth,  and  a  rude  curtain  was  drawn  across  the  ori- 
fice by  which  they  came  in.  De  Lacy  now  found 
himself  in  a  small  canvas  apartment,  from  which, 
through  the  division  in  another  curtain,  he  saw  into  a 
large  space  beyond  the  sentry-box  sort  of  place  in 
which  he  stood. 

"Dis  my  teatre,"  said  De  Welskein. 

"  What    do    you    want    a    theatre    for  ? " 

"To  'muse  mysef — blind  de  vulgare  —  male 
romaunce  —  yaime  les  aventures^  vous  savez^  monsieur." 

"I    thought,    smuggling " 

"  Sare  !  "  said  De  Welskein  with  dignity. 

"  I  mean,  your  mercantile  pursuits  would  have 
given  you  enough  of  employment." 

"  Bah/  —  bagatelle!  —  ever  boddee  can  be  niar- 
chand; — bote   for    les   intrigues " 

"That    requires  a  man  of  genius,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"Ah! — b'leeve  so,  indeet,"  said  De  Welskein 
with  great  self-complacency. 

"  But  then  your  political  mission,  is  not  that 
enough  to  fill  up  any  spare  time  you  can  withhold 
from   your  mercantile  pursuits  ?  " 

"  Yais  —  c'est  vrai  —  ordinairement  —  for  most  pee- 
pel ;  —  but  me  —  love  intrigue  —  romaunce  —  ha  !  ha  ! 
—  besise  —  more  hard  for  discover  to  certen  persun. 
Dis  day,  marchand  —  to-mawrow,  Ponshe  an'  Joodee 
—  now  me  shange  agen." 

Here  he  threw  off  his  coat,  and  proceeded  to  take 
out  of  a  canvas  bag  that  lay  under  some  straw  in  a 
corner,  the  laced  coat  and  cocked-hat,  wig,  &c.  in 
which  Rory  subsequently  saw  him  attired. 

"  Now,  me  go  play  Doctair  Duck." 

"  What    character    is    that  ? "    said     De    Lacy. 

"  Quaak,  quaak,  quaak,"  said  De  Welskein,  with  a 

VOL.   I.  —  14 


2IO  Rory  O'More 

spirit  and  vivacious  expression  worthy  of  the  comedy 
for  u^hich  his  country  is  so  famous. 

De  Lacy  laughed  — "  And  do  you  get  fees  ?  " 

"  Certanlee  :  —  no  fee,  no  docteur  ;  sell  leetle  peels 
—  cure  every  ting  —  better  dan  ghost's  milk.  Besise," 
said  he,  pulling  cards  from  his  pocket,  "here  more 
ting — hocus-pocus  —  poots  cards  in  fool's  pauket  — 
ha  !  ha  !  — mak  dem  stare  —  tink  me  de  divil." 

"  They  're  not  far  out,"  thought  De  Lacy. 

De  Welskein  having  completed  his  attire,  painted 
his  face,  rubbed  burnt  cork  on  his  eye-brows,  and 
shaken  flour  into  his  wig,  held  some  short  conversa- 
tion on  the  state  of  affairs  over  the  water;  and  De 
Lacy,  thinking  it  better  not  to  remain  too  long  in 
such  company,  brought  his  conference  to  a  close  as 
soon  as  possible ;  and  after  telling  De  Welskein 
where  he  could  find  him,  he  drew  the  ragged  curtain, 
and  emerged  from  the  tiring-room  of  the  adventurer. 
Having  rejoined  Phelim,  he  asked  him  what  was  to 
be  done  next,  for  he  determined  to  let  Phelim  do  the 
honours  of  the  fair. 

"  I  hear  there  is  a  pig  in  the  fair,  sir,"  said  the 
cicerone. 

"I  've  seen  some  hundreds  already,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Oh,  you  're  very  smart  on  me  now,"  said  Phelim, 
"and  take  me  up  short;  but  the  pig  I  mane  is  a 
larned  pig." 

"Indeed!   where  is    he   to    be  seen?" 

"  Somewhere  up  here,  I  hear.  Now  I  'd  like  to 
see  that  above  all  things  ;  for  though  I  know  to  my 
cost  that  some  childhre  is  no  betther  than  pigs,  either 
in  manners  nor  intellex,  I  have  yet  to  be  insensed  how 
a  pig  can  be  equal  to  a  Chrishthan." 

They  soon  came  within  hearing  of  a  fellow  who 
was  roaring  at  the  top  of  his  voice, — 

"  Walk  in  !  walk  in!  walk  in,  ladies  and  gintlemin; 


Rory  O'More  211 

here  is  the  wondherful  larned  pig  that  knows  the  five 
quarthers  o'  the  world,  and  more; — together  with 
his  A.  B.  C.  and  apperceeand  —  and  goes  through 
his  alphibbit  backwars  ; — together  with  addishin, 
substhracshin,  multiplicashin,  and  divishin; — knows 
numerashin,  minshurashin,  navigashin,  and  bothera- 
shin" — (Here  the  crowd  always  laughed.) — "To- 
gether with  varrious  accomplishments  too  numerous 
to  be  minshind,  —  smokes  tabakky  and  tells  cunnun- 
dherums." 

"  Oh  !  do  you  hear  the  lies  he  's  tellin'  !  "  said 
Phelim;  "sure  no  pig  could  do  the  like,  barring  one 
pig  that  is  minshind  in  anshint   histhery." 

"  I  don't  remember  that  pig,  Phelim,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"Pig — maylius  !  "  said  Phelim,  bursting  in  tri- 
umph at  having  caught  De  Lacy  in  one  of  his  old 
and  favourite  jokes. 

De  Lacy  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  poor  old 
man's  whimsical  conceit ;  and  complimenting  him 
on  his  wit,  he  proposed  to  Phelim  that  they  should 
see  if  what  was  promised  of  the  pig  were  true. 

"  Impossible  !  "  said  Phelim  ;  "  it  's  only  throwing 
away  money." 

"We'll  see,  at  all  events,"  said  De  Lacy,  who 
paying  sixpence,  which  was  twopence  more  than  was 
required  for  two  admissions,  he  and  the  schoolmaster 
walked  up  a  low  step-ladder,  which  led  to  the  place 
of  exhibition,  deafened,  as  they  passed  the  crier,  by  his 
vociferating,  "Step  up,  ladies  ! — jist  goin'  to  begin. 
Step  up,  step  up — all  for  tuppince — only  tuppince  ; 
the  larned  pig,  only  tuppince  for  minsurashin,  midita- 
shin,  contimplashin,  navigashin,  and  ^az(;-therashin  ! " 

When  the  company  had  been  collected  in  sufficient 
quantity,  a  shrewd-looking  fellow,  fantastically  dressed, 
led  in  a  pig  by  a  string  which  was  fastened  to  a  ring 
in  the  animal's  nose. 


212  Rory  O'More 

The  pig  ascended  a  circular  platform,  in  the  middle 
of  which  a  pole  was  placed,  and  round  the  circle 
were  several  holes  cut. 

"Now,  ladies  and  gintlemin,"  said  the  showman, 
"  this  is  the  larned  pig,  that  is  perfect  masther  of 
varrious  branches  of  idicashin  ;  and  first  and  fore- 
most, he  will  show  you  his  knowledge  of  the  five 
quarthers  o'  the  world,  aiqual  to  Captain  Cook  that 
purformed  the  circumlocution  of  the  globe.  Excuse 
me,  ladies,  till  I  give  him  his  insthrucshins." 

Here  he  put  his  mouth  to  the  pig's  ear,  and  the 
pig  grunted.  "  He  says  he  is  happy  to  have  the 
honour  of  your  company,  ladies." 

Here  the  showman  was  encouraged  by  a  laugh  from 
the  spectators,  who,  all  being  willing  to  be  pleased, 
laughed  at  a  trifle. 

"  What  did  he  say  to  him,  do  you  think  ?  "  said 
Phelim  to  De  Lacy  confidentially, 

"  I  suppose  he  gave  him  a  pig's  whisper,"  said  De 
Lacy. 

"  Good,  sir,  good,"  said  Phelim,  "  by  dad  !  you  're 
always  ready  —  a  pig's  whisper!  —  well  I'll  never 
forget  that !  " 

The  showman  now  laid  four  pieces  of  card,  with 
the  names  of  the  four  quarters  of  the  world  written 
upon  them,  over  four  holes  on  the  opposite  parts  of 
the  circle,  and  said, — 

"  Now,  ladies,  which  o'  the  five  quarthers  o'  the 
world  shall  this  wondherful  scholar  show  you?  — 
Europe,  Asia,  Afrikay,  or  Amerikay  ?  " 

"  Amerikay,  if  you  plaze,  sir,"  said  a  woman,  who 
blushed  excessively  at  hearing  the  sound  of  her  own 
voice  in  public. 

"  Sartinly,  ma'am.     Show  the  lady  Amerikay,  sir." 

The  animal  now  got  a  pull  of  the  string,  and  he 
began  poking  his  nose  round  the  circle,  and  at   last 


Rory  O'More  213 

stopped  at  the  quarter  named,  and  shoved  the  card 
from  over  the  hole. 

Great  applause  followed,  and  the  showman  re- 
warded the  pig  by  giving  him  an  acorn.  De  Lacy 
saw  at  once  how  the  trick  was  done  ;  but  to  Phelim's 
question  of  "  Arrah,  how  did  he  do  that  ?  "  he  made 
no  reply  for  the  present. 

The  showman  was  about  to  remove  the  cards, 
when   Phelim   interrupted  him  :  — 

"  You  said,  sir,  you  'd  show  the  five  quarthers  o' 
the  world  by  manes  o'  your  pig;  and  indeed  if  he 
knows  five  quarthers,  it 's  more  than  I  know." 

"  To  be  sure  he  knows  more  than  you  know,"  said 
the  showman. 

A  burst  of  merriment  followed  this  hit :  for  many 
of  the  spectators  knew  Phelim,  and  that  a  pig  should 
be  said  to  know  more  than  he  did,  delighted  them. 
When  the  laugh  subsided  Phelim  continued  :  — 

"  Maybe  you  don't  know,  my  good  fellow  that 
you  are  addhressing  a  philomath  .?  " 

"  A  what  ?  " 

"  A  philomath,  sir." 

The  showman  now  turned  to  the  pig,  and  puttino- 
his  mouth  to  his  ear,  as  before,  said,  — 

"  Can  you  tell  me  what  is  a  filly-mat  ?  "  —  The 
pig  grunted  again. 

"  He  says,  a  filly-mat  is  a  grumblin'  owld  fellow." 

Another  laugh  against  Phelim  succeeded  the  show- 
man's buffoonery,  whose  practised  effrontery  was  too 
much  for  Phelim.  Phelim,  however,  was  too  used  to 
triumph  to  give  in  so  easily,  particularly  in  the  pres- 
ence of  so  many  who  knew  him;  and  rallying  once 
more,  he  said, — 

"Well,  if  there  is  a  fifth  quarthcr  o'  the  world, 
will  you  be  so  good  to  tell  the  other  brute  there  to 
show  it." 


214  Rory  O'More 

Phelim  had  the  laugh  on  his  side  now.  A  laugh 
is  a  main  point  of  argument  with  Paddy;  and  who- 
ever has  the  last  laugh,  has  the  best  of  the  battle  in 
Ireland. 

The  showman  waited  till  the  laugh  was  lulled,  and 
then  addressing  the  pig,  he  said,  — 

"  Will  you  tell  that  ignorant  owld  fill-pot  what  the 
fifth  quarther  of  the  world  is  ?  " 

The  pig  commenced  rubbing  himself  against  the 
upright  stick  that  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  circle, 
much  to  the  merriment  of  the  crowd. 

"  There  !  "  said  the  showman  triumphantly. 

"  Is  that  what  you  call  answerin'  the  problem  I 
have  propounded  ?  "  said  Phelim,  who  thought  he 
had  vanquished  his  man,  and  got  magniloquent  in 
consequence.     "I    propound   to  yiz  all " 

"If  you  were  poundin'  from  this  till  to-morrow, 
you  're  nothing  but  a  bosthoon"  said  the  showman. 

Phelim  absolutely  staggered  at  the  degrading  epithet 
of  bosthoon  being  applied  to  a  philomath.  The  show- 
man continued  :  — 

"  Sure,  if  you  wor  n't  an  owld  bogie,  you  'd  see 
that  the  pig  was  pointin'  out  to  you  the  fifth  quarther 
o'  the  world  ;  but  the  fact  is,  you  don't  know  that 
there  is  sitch  a  thing  as  the  fifth  quarther  ;  but,"  said 
he,  making  a  flourishing  appeal  to  his  audience, 
"  ladies  and  gintlemin,  you  see  the  baste  has  pointed 
out  to  your  comprehenshin  the  fifth  quarter  of  the 
terrestorial  globe,  which  is  the  North  Pole  !  " 

Phelim  uttered  an  indignant  "  Oh  !  "  but  his  ex- 
clamation was  drowned  in  the  vociferous  plaudits  of 
the  multitude. 

"  Lave  the  place  !  lave  the  place  !  "  said  Phelim  to 
De  Lacy,  bursting  with  rage :  but  De  Lacy  did  not 
like  to  lose  the  fun,  and  thought  Phelim  more  divert- 
ing than  the  pig. 


Rory  O'More  215 

"  Stay,"  said  De  Lacy  ;  "  you  '11  expose  his  igno- 
rance yet." 

Thus  tempted,  Phelim  remained,  maintaining  a 
sulky  silence,  and  watching  for  an  opportunity  of 
annihilating  the  pig  and  the  showman. 

The  fellow  put  his  pig  through  some  alphabetical 
manoeuvres  upon  the  same  principle  that  the  quarters 
of  the  globe  had  been  pointed  out,  though  the  trick 
was  unperceived  by  the  spectators,  who  still  continued 
to  be  delighted. 

"  Now,  ladies  and  gintlemin,"  said  the  proprietor 
of  the  pig,  "  this  divartin'  baste  will  go  through  his 
alphabit  backwars." 

"  Maybe  he  could  say  the  Lord's  prayer  back- 
wards ?  "  said  Phelim,  wishing  to  be  severe. 

"  That  would  rise  the  d  —  1,  as  every  fool  knows," 
said  the  showman,  "  and  that  would  not  be  agreeable 
to  the  company  ;  otherwise  he  could  do  it  aisy." 

"  Hurrup,  Solomon  !  "  continued  he,  addressing 
the  pig  —  ("  He  is  called  Solomon,  ladies  ;  he  is  so 
wise)  ;  go  through  your  alphibit  backwars." 

Upon  this  the  pig  made  a  retrograde  movement 
round  the  circle,  the  showman  exclaiming  when  he 
had  finished,  "  That  's  doin'  it  backwars,  I  think  !  " 

The  people  were  tickled  with  the  quibble  ;  but 
Phelim  said,  "  That  's  only  a  thrick." 

"Well,  it's  my  thrick,  any  how,"  said  the  showman 
with  readiness.      "  You  have  n't  won  a  thrick  yet." 

Phelim  was  floored  again.  By  a  similar  quibble, 
the  animal  went  through  his  multiplication-table.  A 
board,  with  a  multiplication-table  upon  it,  had  a 
swinging  door  hung  in  the  middle;  and  this  being 
placed  before  the  pig,  he  walked  through  it. 

Some  of  the  spectators  asked  to  see  the  pig  "  smoke 
tobakky,"  as  one  of  the  things  promised. 

"  He  would  with  pleasure,  ladies,  but   he  bruk  his 


2i6  Rory  O'More 

pipe  in  the  last  exhibishin,  and  there  is  not  one  con- 
vaynient,"  was  the  answer ;  "  but,  what  is  much  more 
curious,  he  will  answer  connundherums.  Tell  me, 
sir,"  said  he,  addressing  the  pig,  "  what  does  the  ladies 
say  when  they  are  angry  with  their  husbands  ?  " 

The  pig  grunted  furiously.  This  was  the  triumph 
of  the  day  ;  the  men  laughed  outrageously,  and  even 
the  women  could  not  help  joining  ;  and  a  jolly-look- 
ing fellow  in  front  cried  out, — 

"  By  the  powers,  Molly,  that  's  as  like  you  as  two 
pays  !  "      Another  shout  followed  this  sally. 

"  Now,  sir,"  said  the  showman,  "  what  does  the 
girls  say  when  the  boys  is  coaxin'  them  ?  " 

The  pig  gave  a  prolonged  squeal. 

It  was  now  the  young  men's  turn  to  laugh,  and 
many  a  pinched  elbow  of  a  pretty  girl,  at  the  moment, 
caused  a  chorus  to  the  pig's  squeal.  This  was  the 
finale :  the  pig  retired  amidst  the  plaudits  of  "  an 
admiring  audience,"  who  made  their  exit  down  the 
step-ladder,  to  give  place  to  others  who  were  waiting 
to  go  up.  Phelim  was  silent  for  some  time  after  he 
left  the  booth,  but  at  last  broke  out  with,  "That  fel- 
low 's  a  humbugger  !  " 

"That  's  his  business,"  said  De  Lacy,  "and  there- 
fore you  can't  give  him  higher  praise  than  to  say  he 
is  a  humbugger." 

"  And  is  that  what  you  call  praise  ?  "  said  Phelim 
in  offended  wonder,  for  he  thought  De  Lacy  would 
have  sided  with  his  wounded   dignity. 

"  Certainly,"  said  De  Lacy.  "  Every  man  to  his 
calling." 

"  But  is  it  respectable  to  be  humbuggin'  people  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  's  quite  another  question,  Phelim  ;  I  '11 
say  nothing  for  the  respectability ;  but  did  n't  you 
perceive  the  trick  by  which  he  makes  the  pig  point 
out  any  letter  or  part  of  the  world  he  's  desired  ?  " 


Rory  O'More  217 

"  Not  I  —  how  could  I  r  " 

"  Well,  I  '11  tell  you.  You  perceived  there  were 
holes  cut  round  the  circular  platform,  and  that  a  card 
was  always  laid  over  a  hole  ?  " 

"  Yis,'l  did,"  said  PheHm. 

"  Well,  vou  perceived  also,  that  whenever  the  pig 
did  a  trick  effectively,  his  master  gave  him  an  acorn  ?  " 

"  He  gave  him  something,  but  I  did  n't  knov/  it 
was  an  acorn." 

"  You  know  this  is  the  time  of  their  falling,  and 
there  is  nothing  of  which  pigs  are  so  fond." 

"  And  do  you  mane  to  say,  sir,  that  if  you  feed  a 
pig  on  acorns,  you  '11  tache  him  to  spell,  and  larn  him 
jography  r  " 

"  No,"  said  De  Lacv,  smiling  :  "  but  I  mean,  that 
an  acorn  was  the  pig's  reward ;  but  he  would  not 
have  got  the  reward  if  he  had  not.  fourid  out  the  acorns. 
Do  you  see  the  trick  now  ?  " 

"  Why,  thin,  indeed,  to  say  the  thruth,  I  only  per- 
saive  it  afther  a  manner,  like  —  that  is,  not  complate." 

"Well,  I  '11  show  it  to  you  complate.,  then,"  said  De 
Lacv,  who  enjoyed  the  hesitation  that  Phelim  evinced 
to  acknowledge  that  the  showman's  trick  was  beyond 
him. 

"  You  saw  every  card  was  placed  over  a  hole  ?  " 

"Yis." 

"And  that  when  the  pig  came  to  the  right  card,  he 
began  to  poke  it  with  his  snout?" 

"Yis." 

"  And  can't  you  guess  why  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  It  was,  because  his  master  had  a  plate  of  acorns 
attached  to  a  stick,  which  he  always  placed  under  the 
hole  the  card  was  over ;  and  so  the  pig  went  smelling 
round  the  circle  till  he  came  to  the  acorns." 

"Tare  an'  ouns !   what  a  chate  !  "  said  Phelim. 


2i8  Rory  O'More 

"If  the  pig  made  a  mistake,  he  got  no  acorn; 
when  he  found  out  the  right  hole,  he  was  rewarded." 

"  Oh,  the  vagabone  !  to  make  the  people  think 
that  a  pig  could  be  taught  to  know  his  letthers,  and 
jography,  and,  afther  all,  it 's  only  the  nathur  of  the 
brute  baste  is  in  it !  " 

"  And  did  you  expect  any  more  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  did,"  said  the  poor  simple  Phelim ; 
"  and  what  's  worse,  the  people  will  b'lieve  it,  and 
they  '11  say  /  can't  do  as  much  with  a  Chrishthan  child 
as  that  vagabone  can  with  a  pig.  Why,  it 's  enough 
to  ruin  all  the  schoolmasthers  in  Ireland !  I  '11  go 
back  and  expose  the  villain." 

"  No,  no,  Phelim,  you  would  n't  do  that !  " 

"  Why  would  n't  I  ?  is  n't  it  a  common  forgery  on 
people's  undherstan'in's  ?  "  And  De  Lacy  was  obliged 
to  lay  his  hand  on  the  indignant  philomath's  arm  to 
restrain  him. 

"  Phelim,"  said  De  Lacy,  "  you  don't  know  but 
that  poor  fellow  has  a  wife  and  children  to  support ; 
and  if  his  humbugging,  as  you  call  it,  is  turned  into 
bread  and  milk  for  his  little  ones,  you  would  n't  be 
the  cause  of  making  them  feel  hunger  ? " 

"  God  forbid,  sir  !  "  said  Phelim  feelingly,  his  pride 
giving  place  to  his  humanity.  "  Bread  and  milk,  in- 
deed !  Oh,  thin,  if  it's  but  potatoes  and  salt  he  can 
airn  in  such  a  good  cause,  may  the  Lord  prosper 
him  !  " 

It  is  time  to  return  to  Rory  and  his  party  whom 
we  left  looking  for  their  dinner.  But  to  obtain  this, 
they  found  no  such  easy  matter.  They  inquired  at 
various  booths  without  success,  for  the  day  was  fur- 
ther spent  than  they  imagined,  and  the  viands  con- 
sumed. 

Rory  had  been  so  absorbed  between  anxiety  on 
account  of  Kathleen,  and  wonder  at  De  Welskein's 


Rory  O'More  219 

Protean  powers,  that  the  day  had  passed  over  without 
his  being  conscious  of  it ;  and  the  various  shows  kept 
the  attention  of  Conolly  and  Mary  so  much  on  the 
stretch,  that  they  were  equally  unmindful  of  the  flight 
of  time,  and,  as  Mary  herself  said,  "  'Faith,  the  day 
went  over  like  an  hour,  a'most." 

They  sought  the  long  entrenchment  of  sunken 
fires  over  which  pots  full  of  beef  and  cabbage  had 
been  "  busy  bilin'  "  when  last  they  passed  that  way. 
The  fires  were  there  't  is  true,  and  so  were  the  pots, 
but  no  beef  and  cabbage  :  the  solids  had  been  de- 
molished, and  the  huge  iron  pots  had  given  place 
to  kettles,  where  water  was  "  kept  continually 
bilin'  "  for  the  manufacture  of  punch.  What  was 
to  be  done  ?  At  this  hour  dinner  was  manifestly 
a  scarce  thing,  which  fact  increased  their  appetites ; 
and  even  Rory  himself,  in  spite  of  love  and  Kathleen, 
began  to  feel  the  inward  man  making  appeals  to  his 
common  sense.  While  things  were  in  this  state, 
Rory  saw  a  brace  of  ducks  dangling  from  a  string, 
roasting  before  a  fire  at  the  end  of  one  of  the  booths, 
and  a  girl  very  busy  attending  the  culinary  process. 
Rory's  invention  was  immediately  at  work;  and  his 
love  of  fun,  joined  to  his  desire  for  dinner,  at  once 
suggested  the  notion  of  his  making  himself  master 
of  the  ducks. 

So,  desiring  Conolly  and  his  sister  to  secure  a  seat 
as  near  as  they  could  to  where  the  birds  were  in 
preparation,  he  spoke  to  the  landlady  of  the  booth, 
and  asked  could  they  have  dinner.  She  said  they 
had  nothing  but  a  little  cold  beef. 

"  Well,  that  same,"  said  Rory. 

So  plates  were  laid,  and  knives  and  forks  provided, 
and  the  half-warm  and  ragged  remains  of  some  very 
bad  beef  were  placed  before  Rory  and  his  party. 

"  That  'II  do,"  said   Rory,  who,  having  thus  con- 


220  Rory  O'More 

trived  to  get  the  plates,  &c.  set  about  securing  the 
ducks.  Feigning  an  excuse,  he  said  to  his  party, 
"  Don't  begin  till  Jack  comes  to  us,  he  '11  be  here 
by-an'-by  :  "  and  then  turning  to  the  girl  who  was 
cooking  the  ducks,  he  kept  up  a  conversation  with 
her,  and  made  her  laugh  so  often,  that  he  got  into 
her  good  graces,  and  she  fancied  him  the  pleasantest 
fellow  in  the  world.  At  last,  Rory,  when  he 
thought  the  birds  were  nearly  done,  said  to  her, 
seeing  that  her  face  was  very  dewy  from  her 
occupation, — 

"  I  b'lieve  it 's  roasting  thim  ducks  you  are  ?  " 

"  'Faith,  it 's  thim  that 's  roasting  me,  you  mane," 
said  the  girl. 

"It's  dhry  work,  I'm    thinkin',"    said    Rory. 

"  Thrue  for  you,"  said  the  girl,  "  and  no  one  to 
offer  me  a  dhrink." 

"  Suppose  I  'd  give  you  a  dhrink  ?  "   said  Ror)'. 

*'  Long  life  to  you  !  "  said  the  girl,  looking  up  at 
him,  and  wiping  down  her  face  with  a  back  stroke 
of  her  red   hand. 

"  Well,  you  must  do  something  for  me,"  said 
Rory,  "  and  I  '11  give  you  a  pot  o'  porther." 

"  God  bless  you  !  "   said  the  girl. 

"  Jist  run  down,  thin,  to  Tim  Donoghue's  stan'in,' 
—  it 's  at  the  far  end  o'  the  sthreet,  —  and  get  me 
a  ha'p'orth  o'  snufF,  for  I  'm  lost  with  a  cowld  in  my 
head  that  I  got  through  a  hole  in  my  hat." 

*'  Go  'long  wid  you  !  "  said  the  girl,  giving  the 
ducks  a  twirl. 

"  It 's  thruth  I  'm  tellin'  you,"  said  Rory. 

"Oh!     I    darn't    lave    the    ducks,"    said    she. 

"Oh!"  said  Rory  in  an  insinuating  tone,  "jist 
slip  out  here  through  the  slit  in  the  tint,  and  I  '11  take 
charge  o'  them  till  you  come  back.  Here  's  a  hog  for 
you,  and  you  may  keep  the  change  for  yourself." 


Rory  O'More  221 

The  "  hog  "  was  too  much  for  the  girl's  prudence  : 
off  she  started  to  Tim  Donoghue's ;  and  she  was  n't 
ten  steps  from  the  place,  when  Rory  had  the  pair  of 
ducks  on  the  dish  before  his  party,  and,  as  Rory 
himself  said  in  telling  the  story  after,  "  the  sorrow 
long  they  wor  in  making  jommethry  of  the  same 
ducks." 

When  the  girl  came  back  and  saw  the  skeletons 
of  the  birds  she  had  left  in  tempting  plumpness 
before  the  fire,  she,  in  the  language  of  Conolly, 
"screeched   a  thousand  murdhers,  and   riz  the  tint." 

"  Oh  !   the  ducks,  the  ducks  !  "   cried  the  girl. 

"  Oh  !  you  baggage,  are  they  spylte  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Molloy,  the  landlady,  rushing  to  the  spot  on  hearing 
the  uproar. 

"  No,  indeed,  ma'am,"  said  Rory  very  quietly, 
picking  the  bones  of  one  of  them  at  the  same  time  ; 
"  they  are  not  spylte,  for  they  wor  as  fine  ducks  as 
ever  I  put  a  tooth  in." 

"  Oh,  God  be  good  to  me  !  "  said  the  woman, 
with  a  look  of  despair;  "is  it  ating  Mr.  Regan's 
wild  ducks  you  are  ?  " 

Now  this  "  took  Rory  aback,"  as  sailors  say.  He 
would  rather  that  he  had  not  hit  upon  Regan's 
ducks  for  his  frolic  :  but,  as  chance  had  so  ruled  it,  he 
determined  to  follow  up  his  joke  ;   so  he  answered, 

"  In  throth,  ma'am,  I  did  n't  know  whose  ducks 
they  wor ;  and  as  for  their  being  wild^  I  never  found 
it  out ;  and,  'pon  my  conscience,  I  think  they  are 
a'most  as  good  as  if  they  wor  tame." 

"  But  they  wor  Mr.  Regan's  ducks  !  " 

"  I  did  n't  know  that,  ma'am  :  I  supposed  they 
wor  yours;  and  when  I  kem  to  your  tint  for  en- 
thertainment,  I  thought  I  had  a  right  to  whatever 
ateables  was  in   it,  as  well  as  another." 

"Oh!   what '11   Mr.  Regan   say?" 


222  Rory  O'More 

"  He  '11  say  what  he  has  to  say  for  himself,"  said 
Regan,  who,  on  hearing  that  his  ducks  had  been 
taken  by  Rory  O'More,  became  exceedingly  wroth, 
and  swaggered  up  to  the  scene  of  action.  On  his 
arrival  there^  he  saw  Conolly  sitting  beside  Mary 
O'More,  and  this,  as  Rory  said  when  speaking  of 
the  affair  after,  "  roused  the  divil  in  him  ;  "  so,  chang- 
ing his  attack,  which  was  intended  for  Rory,  upon 
Conolly,  he  said,  addressing  the  latter  in  a  menacing 
tone,  — 

"  How  dar  you  take  my  ducks  ?  "  Conolly  was  in 
the  act  of  rising,  when  Rory  laid  his  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  and  said,  "Sit  down — this  is  no  affair  of 
yours." 

In  doing  this,  Rory  was  actuated  by  a  double 
motive.  In  the  first  place,  had  the  quarrel  been 
established  between  Conolly  and  Regan,  he  knew 
that  his  sister's  name  would  be  mixed  up  with  it, 
and  his  intuitive  sense  of  delicacy  recoiled  at  the 
thought  of  Mary's  name  being  connected  with  a 
brawl  at  a  fair  ;  secondly,  in  point  of  fact  he  was 
the  person  who  had  committed  the  act  complained  of 
—  and  Rory  was  not  the  man  to  let  another  fight 
his  battle.      So,  turning  to   Regan,  he  said, — 

"  It  was  I  tuk  the  ducks,  Shan  —  Conolly  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it  ;  and  if  I  have  disappointed 
you  of  your  dinner,  I  'm  sorry  for  it,  —  and  I  hope 
that 's  satisfaction  enough.  And  for  you,  Mrs. 
Molloy,  I  beg  your  pardon  if  I  tuk  what  I  had  no 
right  to,  and  all  I  can  do  is  to  pay  you  for  the 
ducks."  And  he  offered  her  his  hand  full  of  silver 
to  take  the   price  from. 

"  Take  your  money  out  o'  that  !  "  said  Regan 
fiercely,  accompanying  the  words  with  a  shove  that 
scattered  Rory's  shillings  over  the  table  and  the 
ground.     "  The  ducks  were  not  Mrs.  Molloy's  ducks, 


Rory  O^More  223 

but  mine,  and  I  don't  want  to  be  paid  for  what  I 
did  n't  intend  to  sell ;  —  and  all  I  've  to  say  is,  that 
I  recommend  you  not  to  make  away  with  any  thing 
belonging  to  me  for  the  future." 

There  was  an  emphasis  on  "  belonging  to  me  "  that 
Rory  felt  was  meant  to  allude  to  Kathleen  ;  but  that 
was  not  so  offensive  as  the  phrase  "  make  away,"  — 
which  being  a  common  form  of  parlance  in  Ireland 
for  any  thing  that  is  illegally  taken,  roused  Rory's 
indignation. 

"Regan,"  said  he,"  what  I  did,  I  did  in  a  joke; 
and  I  have  said  in  good  temper,  and  with  a  hope  of 
making  friends,  all  that  ought  to  satisfy  a  man  that 
wished  to  be  a  friend  ;  and  if  afther  that  you  wish  to 
make  a  quarrel  of  it,  and  mane  to  throw  an  affront  on 
me,  I  tell  you,  Regan,  it 's  what  I  won't  take  from 
you." 

"  I  wish  you  had  been  as  particular  about  my 
ducks,"    said    Regan,  walking   off. 

"  If  I  tuk  your  ducks,  Regan,  I  won't  take  your 
impidince,"  said  Rory,  disengaging  himself  from 
behind    the    table. 

Mary  attempted  to  stop  him,  but  Conolly  prevented 
her,  knowing  the  fatal  consequences  of  a  man  being 
hampered  with  a  woman  in  a  fray.  "  The  best 
thing  you  can  do,"  said  he,  "  is  to  lave  his  hands 
loose,  for  he'll  have  need  o'  them  soon."  Then 
handing  over  Mary  to  the  care  of  an  elderly  man,  he 
said,  "  Jist  take  care  o'  the  colleen  while  I  see  fair 
play ;  "  and  he  was  at  Rory's  side  in  an  instant. 

There  was  no  time  to  spare,  for  Regan  turned 
round  at  Rory's  last  word  and  said,  "  Did  you  say 
impidince  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  did,"  said  Rory. 

The  words  were  no  sooner  uttered  than  Regan 
made    a    tremendous    blow    at    him;    but    rage    and 


224  Rory  O'More 

liquor  (for  he  had  been  drinking)  had  deprived  him 
of  his  usual  power  in  such  matters,  and  Rory  easily 
warded  his  blow,  returning  one  so  well  planted,  that 
Regan  measured  his  length  on  the  floor  of  the  booth. 

He  rose  again,  and  two  or  three  of  his  cronies 
rallied  round  him,  while  ConoUy  and  the  lovers  of  fair 
play  saw  that  nothing  foul  should  befall  Rory. 

From  the  fury  and  intoxication  of  Regan  the  fight 
was  a  short  one.  After  his  first  fall,  Rory  requested 
that  his  opponent's  friends  would  "  take  him  away,  as 
he  was  n't  fit  to  fight ; "  but  this  only  increased 
Regan's  rage,  and  he  rushed  again  upon  his  man. 
But  it  was  an  easy  conquest  for  Rory,  though  Regan 
was  superior  in  years  and  strength  ;  and  the  end  of 
the  affair  was,  as  Conolly  and  Rory's  friends  spread 
far  and  wide  over  the  country  in  relating  the  affair, 
"  That  Rory  O'More  gave  Regan  the  length  and 
breadth  of  as  fine  a  licking  as  ever  he  got  in  his 
life." 


CHAPTER   XVII 

A  MOONLIGHT   MEETING;    WITH  ONE  TOO  MANY 

FROM  the  presence  of  the  military  at  the  fair, 
and  the  existence  of  the  curfew-law  at  the  period, 
it  became  doubly  necessary  that  the  people  assembled 
should  disperse  in  good  time,  and  take  their  homeward 
way. 

De  Lacy  particularly  felt  the  necessity  of  this,  for, 
circumstanced  as  he  was,  to  have  put  himself  within 
reach  of  military-law  would  have  been  madness ;  so 
he  and  Phelim  left  the  fair  much  earlier  than  Rory 
and  his  party,  for  the  "  small  scrimmage  "  after  dinner 
had  occasioned  some  delay.  It  is  not  immediately 
after  a  man  has  "  settled  the  hash "  of  his  enemy, 
that  he  can  coolly  take  up  his  hat  (that  is,  if  he  has  the 
good  luck  not  to  have  lost  it  in  the  fight),  and  pay 
his  tavern  bill  and  depart  in  peace.  The  decencies 
of  social  life  must  be  observed  :  he  must  adjust  his 
ruffled  attire,  sit  down  to  show  his  presence  of  mind, 
and  take  a  drink  to  quench  his  thirst  —  for  fighting  is 
thirsty  work.  Then,  as  in  the  case  of  Rory,  one 
must  not  be  so  uncivil  as  to  turn  one's  back  on  the 
congratulations  of  one's  friends  ;  and  there  were  many 
who  congratulated  Rory,  for  Regan  was  a  quarrel- 
some fellow,  and  what,  in  fighting  parlance,  is  called 
a  "  troublesome  customer-,  "  and  such  a  man  to  get  a 
thrashing  where  it  was  least  expected,  excited  great 
satisfaction,  and  numerous  were  the  shakings  of  hands, 
slaps  on  the  shoulder,  and  exclamations  of  admiration, 
VOL.  L — 15 


226  Rory  O'More 

that  Rory  had  bestowed  upon  him,  and  several  fresh 
tumblers  were  called  for  to  drink  "  his  health,  and 
more  power  to   his  elbow." 

"  Long  life  to  you,  your  sowl  !  "  was  said  to  him 
on  all  sides — "  Musha  health  and  power  to  you, 
Rory,  my  boy !  but  you  done  the  thing  complate. 
Divil  a  purtier  bit  o'  fight  mysef  seen  this  many  a 
day.  Och  !  but  you  have  the  owld  blood  o'  the 
O'Mores   in   you,   ma   bouchal !  " 

When  he  could  escape  from  the  congratulation  of 
his  friends,  Rory,  with  his  sister  and  Conolly,  made 
the  best  of  their  way  home.  There  was  not  much 
said  on  the  way  ;  Mary  saw  that  jealousy  on  Regan's 
part  had  been  the  real  cause  of  his  savage  conduct, 
and  therefore,  with  a  woman's  tact,  she  wished  the 
subject  of  the  quarrel  to  be  as  little  discussed  as  pos- 
sible. This  partly  influenced  Rory,  too  ;  but  with 
him  there  was  a  more  powerful  cause  of  silence. 
The  events  of  the  day  were  recalled,  one  by  one,  to 
his  memory  ;  and  when  he  remembered  all  that  had 
passed  between  him  and  Kathleen,  he  more  and  more 
regretted  his  fight  with  her  brother,  and  feared  it 
might  prove  an  additional  obstacle  to  the  course  of  his 
"  true  love,"  which  did  not  seem  to  be  a  bit  more 
likely  to  run  smoother  than  it  was  wont  to  do  in 
Shakspeare's  days  ;  and  so  he  trudged  on  in  silence, 
anticipating  the  appointed  meeting  of  the  morrow, 
and  thinking  all  he  should  say  to  his  Kathleen  to 
assure  her  of  his  truth. 

Conolly  guessed  the  cause  of  Mary's  silence  on  the 
subject  of  Regan's  misdemeanour,  and  he  had  too 
much  wit  about  him  not  to  know  that  the  expression 
of  triumph  at  the  defeat  of  a  rival,  in  the  hearing  of 
the  woman  for  whom  the  rivalry  existed  would  only 
lower  him  in  her  opinion. 

Thus,    the    concluding    event   of   the    preceding 


Rory  0' More  227 

chapter,  though  it  occupied  the  mind  of  each,  yet, 
from  the  causes  assigned,  all  by  common  consent  for- 
bore to  speak  of  it  :  therefore,  as  the  predominant 
impression  on  their  minds  was  one  that  might  not  be 
manifested  in  words,  they  pursued  their  way  in  com- 
parative silence. 

The  moon  was  rising  when  the  party  reached  the 
end  of  the  boreen  that  led  to  O'More's  cottage,  and 
there  ConoUy  parted  company.  When  he  was  gone, 
Rory  told  Mary  to  say  nothing  to  his  mother  about 
the  fight.  "  'T  would  only  trouble  her,"  said  he, 
"  and  there  would  be  no  use  in  it.  Indeed,  we 
won't  spake  of  it  at  home  at  all  —  even  to  Mr.  De 
Lacy." 

"  I  'd  rather  myself  it  was  so,"  said  Mary  ;  "  but, 
Rory  dear,  won't  the  mother  see  the  marks  on  you, 
and  suspect  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  've  no  marks  on  me  that  she  can  know 
of:  the  sulky  thief  never  put  the  sign  of  his  fist  in 
my  face." 

"  Oh !  but  I  'm  glad  o'  that,  Rory  dear,"  said 
Mary,  "  for  it  looks  so  ugly  and  disrespectable  to 
have  the  marks  of  fighting  on  a  man's  face." 

"  Well,  sure  I  could  n't  help  it  if  I  had  itself. 
You  know,  Mary,  't  was  n't  my  fault." 

"  No,  in  throth,  Rory  ;  and  sure  my  heart  sunk 
within  me  when  I  seen  you  stand  up,  for  I  dhreaded 
that  horrid  fellow  was  more  than  your  match;  and 
sure  't  was  brave  and  bowld  o'  you,  Rory,  ma  chree^ 
to  put  yourself  forninst  him." 

"  I  'm  not  afraid  of  him,  the  best  day  he  ever 
stept,"  said  Rory ;  "  but  as  for  to-day,  he  was  too 
full  o'  dhrink  to  give  me  any  throuble,  and  it  wint 
agin  my  heart  to  sthreck  a  man  that  was  in  liquor, 
only  you  seen  yourself  he  would  have  it." 

"Throth,   Rory,  you've  nothing   to  blame   your- 


228  Rory  O'More 

self  with,"  said  Mary ;  "  you  showed  the  hoighth  o' 
good  temper." 

Having  reached  the  house,  their  conversation 
ended.  They  found  De  Lacy  and  Phelim  at  supper, 
which  Rory  and  A'lary  helped  to  finish  ;  and  after  a 
desultory  conversation  about  the  "  humours  of  the 
fair,"  to  give  the  widow  some  idea  of  their  day's 
amusement,  they  separated  for  the  night. 

It  was  a  night  of  repose  to  all  under  the  widow's 
roof  except  Rory.  The  excitement  of  the  day,  and 
his  anxious  anticipation  of  the  morrow,  banished 
slumber,  and  he  rose  at  an  early  hour  the  following 
morning,  unrefreshed  and  feverish.  He  appealed  to 
that  unfailing  friend  of  a  hot  head,  —  namely,  spring 
water,  — and  by  a  plentiful  deluge  from  the  well,  he 
made  himself  as  comfortable  as  he  could  during  the 
day,  that  to  him  seemed  interminable.  At  length  even- 
ing arrived,  and  Rory  hastened  to  the  appointed  place, 
where  he  hoped  to  meet  Kathleen,  and  clear  himself 
from  the  charges  which  had  been  made  against   him. 

The  place  he  named  for  their  rendezvous  was  a 
rath,  near  a  bridge  which  crossed  the  river  about 
halfway  between  their  respective  residences.  Rath 
is  the  name  given  in  Ireland  to  certain  large  circular 
mounds  of  earth,  by  some  called  Danish  forts.  That 
they  were  intended  for  purposes  of  defence,  there  is  no 
doubt ;  but  they  are  more  likely  the  works  of  the 
ancient  Irish  than  the  Danes. 

The  rath  which  Rory  named  stood  near  the  bank 
of  the  river,  and  probably  was  intended  to  defend  the 
passage  of  the  stream,  which  in  later  days  had  been 
traversed  by  a  bridge  of  low  small  arches,  such  as 
remain  in  great  numbers  in  Ireland  to  this  day,  and 
present  specimens  of  early  architecture  more  curious, 
perhaps,  than  any  thing  else  in  the  same  way  remain- 
ing  in   Europe.     To   the    inexperienced    stranger   it 


Rory  O'More  229 

would  appear  that  a  great  deal  of  masonry  had  been 
thrown  awav  on  the  bridge  in  question,  for  there 
were  many  arches  which  were  quite  dr\'  at  some 
seasons ;  but  bv  those  who  know  how  rapidly  the 
streams  in  the  vicinity  of  hills  expand  after  heavy 
rains,  the  knowledge  of  our  forefathers  in  thus  pro- 
viding against  such  an  exigencv  can  be  appreciated. 

Rory  arrived  at  the  place  of  appointment  earlier 
than  Kathleen,  of  course  :  —  there  needs  no  master 
of  the  ceremonies  to  tell  that  a  lady  must  not  be 
kept  waiting  on  such  occasions.  But  as  time  wore 
on,  he  began  to  feel  impatience ;  and  then  he  ascended 
the  rath,  and  looked  from  its  summit  in  the  direction 
he  expected  Kathleen  to  approach.  Here  he  lingered, 
in  hope,  till  evening  was  closing,  and  the  yellow  disc 
of  the  moon  began  to  rise  above  the  broad  belt  of 
clouds  which  skirted  the  horizon  ;  then  he  began  to 
fear  Kathleen  had  promised  him  only  to  be  rid  of  his 
importunity  —  or  that  some  fresh  influence  had  been 
exercised  against  him  —  or  that  she  believed  the 
calumny  ;  —  which  was  worst  of  all.  And  so  great 
was  his  anxiety  to  remove  such  a  fatal  impression 
from  Kathleen's  mind,  that  even  in  defiance  of  all 
reasonable  expectation  of  seeing  her,  he  remained  on 
the  rath  and  strained  his  sight,  through  the  increasing 
gloom,  to  catch  the  first  glimpse  of  her  he  wished  so 
much  to  meet.  Still,  she  came  not ;  and  now  the 
moon,  emerging  from  the  vapour  by  which  she  had 
been  enshrouded,  rose  above  it  in  all  her  puritv,  no 
longer  dimmed  by  the  yellow  mist  which  had  tarnished 
her  silvery  brightness.  Still  Rory  remained,  although 
he  had  given  up  the 

"Last  pale  hope  that  trembled  at  his  heart." 

But  as  the  moonlight  became  so  bright,  and  as  he 
knew  the  danger  of  being  abroad  at  such  an  hour,  he 


230  Rory  O'More 

crouched  in  the  trench  on  the  summit  of  the  rath, 
and  watched  with  his  eyes  above  the  embankment. 

He  had  just  arrived  at  the  conclusion,  in  his  own 
mind,  it  was  no  use  to  wait  any  longer,  when  he 
fancied  he  caught  the  outline  of  a  figure  moving 
towards  him  ;  —  it  became  more  distinct  —  it  was  a 
woman's  ;  a  moment  more,  and  his  heart  told  him  it 
was  Kathleen. 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  running  down  the  rath, 
he  reached  the  ditch  that  bordered  the  field  in  time  to 
offer  his  hand  to  Kathleen,  and  assist  her  over  the 
fence.  They  stood  in  bright  moonlight ;  and  Rory 
could  see  that  an  aspect  of  care  was  over  Kathleen's 
brow,  which  even  his  fervent  welcome,  and  thanks, 
and  blessings,  could  not  dispel. 

"  Let  us  get  under  the  shadow  of  the  bridge,"  said 
Rory. 

"  No,"  said  Kathleen  with  an  air  of  reserve. 

"  Don't  let  us  stand  here,  however,"  said  Rory, 
"  so  near  the  road,  and  the  moon  so  bright." 

*'  We  can  stand  inside  the  rath,"  said  Kathleen, 
leading  the  way. 

They  soon  stood  in  the  trench  of  the  fort,  com- 
pletely shadowed  by  the  embankment,  while  the  moon- 
light fell  brightly  on  the  mound  that  rose  within. 

"  God  bless  you,  Kathleen,  for  keeping  your 
promise  !  "  said  Rory   fervently. 

"  Whatever  you  've  to  say,  say  quickly,  Rory,  for 
I  must  not  stay  here  long,"  replied  Kathleen. 

"  Then  tell  me  openly,  Kathleen,  what  is  it  you 
think  you  have  to  accuse  me  of,  and  I  will  explain  it 
all  to  your  satisfaction." 

"  You  left  home  for  a  day  about  three  weeks 
ago  ?  "  said  Kathleen. 

"  I  did,"  said  Rory. 

''  You  went  to  the  town  beyant  ?  " 


Rory  O'More  231 


"  I  did,"  said  Rory. 

"  You  were  in  a  cellar  there  ?  " 

"  I  was." 

"And  not  in  the  best  of  company,  Rory,"  said 
Kathleen  reproachfully. 

"Worse  than,  I  hope,  I'  11  ever  be  in  agin,"  said  Rory. 

"  You  own  to  that,  thin  ?  " 

"  I  '11  own  to  all  that 's  thrue,"  said  Rory. 

"  Thin  what  have  you  to  say  about  the  girl  that 
you  were  so  much  in  love  with  ?  " 

"  In  love  with  !  "  said  Rory  indignantly.  "  Kath- 
leen, there  is  but  one  girl  on  this  earth  I  love,  and 
that  's  yourself.      I  swear  it  by  this  blessed  light  !  " 

Just  as  he  spoke,  as  if  the  light  which  he  adjured 
had  evoked  a  spirit  to  condemn  him,  a  dark  shadow 
was  cast  on  the  mound  before  them  ;  and  on  their 
both  looking  round,  a  figure  enveloped  in  a  cloak 
stood  on  the  embankment  behind  them.  Kathleen 
could  not  suppress  a  scream,  and  even   Rory  started. 

"  Is  that  what  I  hear  you  say  ?  "  said  this  mysteri- 
ious  apparition.  "  Kathleen  !  Kathleen  !  he  said  the 
same  to  me." 

Kathleen  could  not  speak,  but  stood  with  clasped 
hands,  in  trembling  astonishment,  gazing  with  the 
fascination  of  fear  upon  the  figure  that  stood  on  the 
bank  above  them. 

"Who  are  you?"  said  Rory. — The  figure  was 
about  to  turn,  when  Rorv  caught  hold  of  the  cloak  in 
which  it  was  enveloped,  and  dragged  the  intruder 
within  the  trench  of  the  rath. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  said  Rory  again,  turning  round 
the  person  to  face  the  light. 

"Don't  you  know  mc,  Rory  O'More?"  said  the 
unknown,  who  threw  back  the  hood  of  her  cloak  at 
the  words,  and  the  pale  moonbeam  fell  on  the  face 
of  the   frail  one  of  the  cellar. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

CONTAINING    A    COUNCIL    OF    LOVE    AND    A    COUNCIL 
OF    WAR 

TO  account  for  the  occurrence  which  concludes 
the  foregoing  chapter,  it  becomes  necessary  to 
revert  to  Kathleen  after  her  return  from  the  fair. 
She  had  spent  as  restless  a  night  as  Rory,  and  after 
considering  for  a  long  time  the  fitness  of  meeting  him 
clandestinely,  after  all  she  had  heard,  was  still  at  a 
loss  how  to  act  ;  she  determined  therefore  to  tell  her 
mother  how  matters  stood,  and  ask  her  advice.  Be- 
tween the  daughter  and  mother  affection  and  good 
understanding  had  always  existed ;  but  of  late  there 
had  been  an  increasing  confidence  in  and  leaning 
towards  each  other,  resulting  from  the  unruly  con- 
duct of  the  son,  against  whose  aggression  and  way- 
wardness Kathleen  and  her  mother  were  obliged  to 
combine,  and  endeavour  by  union  in  the  weaker 
party  to  make  a  better  defence  against  the  tyranny 
of  the  stronger. 

Regan  had  not  got  up  the  morning  succeeding  the 
fair,  in  consequence  of  the  punishment  he  had  received 
from  Rory,  and  was  lying  under  some  herbal  treat- 
ment of  his  mother's,  in  a  room  that  was  partitioned 
off  the  principal  apartment  of  the  farmhouse,  which 
served  not  only  for  the  kitchen,  but  for  all  the  daily 
purposes  of  the  family.  Kathleen  had  just  come  from 
her  brother's  room,  whither  she  had  gone  to  offer  any 
attendance  he  might  require,  and  gently  closed  the 
door  after  her,  thinking    that   he  had   fallen   asleep, 


r^Sd^c^^c^^ia^  y^ 


Rory  O'More  233 

while  in  fact  he  had  only  indulged  in  a  dogged  silence 
to  her  kind  inquiries,  and  feigned  slumber  to  be  rid 
of  her. 

Taking  adv^antage  of  this  opportunity,  Kathleen 
drew  a  seat  near  her  mother,  who  was  knitting,  and 
settling  herself  down  to  her  spinning-wheel,  she  began 
to  work  very  industriously  for  some  time  in  silence. 
The  hum  of  the  wheel  was  interrupted  in  a  minute  or 
two  by  a  short  cough ;  and  as  Kathleen's  fingers  were 
kept  busy,  and  her  eyes  fixed  upon  them,  so  that  she 
need  not  have  the  necessity  of  meeting  those  of  her 
mother,  there  could  not  be  a  more  favourable  moment 
for  the  opening  of  the  delicate  affair  she  had  in  hand  ; 
and  so,  after  one  or  two  more  little  coughs,  she 
ventured  to  say,  "  Mother." 

It  may  be  remarked,  that  when  people  have  any 
delicate  subject  to  discuss,  more  particularly  all  affairs 
of  the  heart,  there  is  something  in  the  mere  sound  of 
their  voices  that  gives  you  to  understand  what  they 
are  about,  before  a  word  relating  to  the  subject  is 
said. 

Now,  Kathleen's  mother  was  as  wise  as  mothers  in 
general  are  about  such  matters,  seeing  that  they  have 
had  such  affairs  of  their  own  on  their  hands ;  and  so, 
the  very  minute  Kathleen  said  "  Mother,"  that  respect- 
able individual  knew  what  was  coming  just  as  well  as 
if  she  were  a  witch. 

*'  Well,  alanna  F  "  said  the  mother  softly,  coaxing 
her  child's  heart  out  of  its  secrecy  by  the  encouraging 
tone  of  her  voice,  as  a  bird  chirps  its  young  for  the 
first  time   from  the  security  of  the  nest. 

"  There  's  something  I  wish  to  tell  you,"  said 
Kathleen. 

"  Well,  darlin',  I  dar  say  it 's  nothing  but  what 
I  '11  be  glad  to   hear." 

"  I  'm  afcard  you  '11  think  me  foolish,  mother." 


234  Rory  0' More 

"  Throth,  I  never  seen  the  sign  iv  a  fool  an  you 
yet,  alanna  bawn.^' 

Here  there  was  a  pause,  filled  up  only  by  the  buzz 
of  the  spinning-wheel.  The  mother  thought  she  had 
best  break  the  ice  ;  so,  with  a  tone  of  gentle  pleasantry 
in  her  manner,  to  deprive  the  subject  of  its  sternness, 
—  to  "  take  the  cold  out  of  it,"  as  it  were,  —  she  said, 
"  I  suppose  some  o'  the  boys  has  been  talkin'  to 
you  ?  " 

"  Yis,  ma'am,"  said  Kathleen  faintly,  blushing  up 
to  her  ears  at  the  same  time,  while  the  wheel  went 
round  at  a  desperate  rate  and  the  thread  was  broken. 

While  Kathleen  mended  the  thread  of  her  spinning, 
her  mother  took  up  that  of  the  conversation. 

"  Well,  dear,  —  well  and  good,  —  and  why  not  ? 
Sure,  it  's  only  raysonable,  and  what 's  before  us  all  in 
our  time  when  it 's  God's  will.  And  who  's  the  boy, 
Kathleen  dear  ?  " 

Kathleen,  after  swallowing  her  breath  three  or  four 
times,  said,  "  Rory  O'More,  mother." 

"  Sure,  thin,  but  you  're  the  happy  girl  !  God 
bless  you,  child,  and  mark  you  to  grace,  to  have  the 
very  pick  o'  the  counthry  axint  you  !  " 

"  Indeed,  I  thought  so  myself,  mother  ;  but " 

"  But  what,  dear  ?  " 

"  Why,  Shan,  you  know,  mother." 

"Yis,  yis,  dear;"  and  the  mother  sighed  heavily. 
It  was  some  time  before  she  could  resume  the  con- 
versation, and  in  the  interim  she  raised  her  apron  to 
dry  a  tear  that  trickled  down  her  cheek.  How  deep 
is  the  guilt  of  the  child  who  causes  the  tears  of  a 
parent ! 

"  If  Shan  could  n't  get  Mary  O'More  (and  more 
is  his  loss,  indeed  !  ),  that  is  no  rayson,  darlin',  that 
you  would  n't  have  Rory." 

"  But  Shan  is  very  much  agin  it,  mother." 


Rory  O'More  235 

"  How  do  you  know,  dear  ?  " 

"He  suspects,  somehow,  that  I  had  a  liking  for 
him." 

"  Had  a  liking  !  "  said  the  mother.  "  Why,  have  n't 
you  a  liking,  Kathleen  ?  " 

"  Whv,  vou  see,  mother,  he  towld  me  things  of 
him  ;  and  if  the  things  was  thrue,  Rory  would  n't  be 
as  good  as  I  thought  him." 

"  How  do  you  mane,  darlin' }  "  Here  Kathleen 
entered  into  an  explanation  of  how  Regan  had  poi- 
soned her  mind  against  Rory,  and  told  her  mother  all 
she  had  heard  about  the  adventures  of  the  cellar ;  — 
how,  subsequently,  she  had  met  Rory  at  the  fair  — 
of  her  coolness,  of  his  disavowal  of  guilt,  and  request 
that  she  would  meet  him  to  explain  every  thing. 

"  He  said,  '  This  evening,  at  the  rath,  beside  the 
bridge '" 

"  Whisht !  "  said  the  mother,  pointing  to  Regan's 
room;  ^'■he's  awake." 

And  so  he  was,  and  heard  the  principal  part  of  the 
conversation  between  his  mother  and  his  sister ;  and 
it  was  in  raising  himself  in  the  bed,  the  better  to 
catch  the  latter  part  of  the  discourse,  that  he  had 
alarmed  the  watchful  ear  of  his  mother :  for  poor 
Kathleen  was  so  absorbed  in  her  subject,  that  she 
quite   forgot  her  proximitv  to  her  brother. 

Regan  now  called  for  some  one  to  attend  him  ;  and 
on  his  mother  appearing,  he  said  he  was  much  re- 
freshed by  the  last  sleep  he  had,  and  would  get  up. 

"  Indeed,  you  're  bctther  where  you  are,  Shan,  for 
to-day,"  said  his  mother. 

"  No,  no,  bed  kills  me  ;  it 's  not  fit  for  a  man  : 
I  '11  be  the  betther  of  some   fresh   air." 

"  Sure,  you  would  n't  go  out,  Shan,  and  your  face 
in  that  condition  ?  "   said  his  mother. 

"Thim     who     doesn't     like     my    face,"  said    he, 


236  Rory  O'More 

"  need  n't  look  at  it ;  "  and  despite  of  his  mother's 
entreaties,  he  proceeded  to  dress  himself,  which  when 
he  had  accomplished,  he  sallied  forth. 

"  Why,  thin,  where  can  Shan  be  goin'  ! "  said 
Kathleen. 

"  Oh,  musha,  how  should  I  know  ? "  said  the 
mother.  "  He 's  never  aisy  at  home,  God  help 
him  !  " 

"  Well,  mother,  what  do  you  think  about  my  goin' 
to  the  rath  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  'd  betther  go  there,  darlin' :  I  don't 
think  myself  that  Rory  O'More  would  be  as  bad 
as  you  wor  made  to  b'lieve." 

"  Indeed,  mother,  it  was  agin'  my  heart  I  b'lieved 
any  thing  bad  of  him." 

''To  be  sure,  darlin',  and  it's  only  fair  to  hear 
what  the  boy   has  to  say." 

''  Thin  you  think  I  may  go  ?  " 

"  Yis,  ma  vourtieen ;  but  in  case  evil  tongues  would 
say  any  thing,  I  '11  go  along  wid  you." 

Kathleen,  after  some  hesitation,  said,  ''  But  maybe 
Rory  would  be  shy  of  seeing  you,  mother  ?  " 

"  Sartinly,  dear,  and  I  '11  only  go  along  with  you 
convaynient  to  the  rath.  I  '11  stay  a  thrifle  behind 
you,  so  that  he  won't  see  me  ;  but  at  the  same  time 
I  '11  be  near  enough,  so  that  no  one  shall  have  the 
occasion  to  say  a  light  word  o'  you  —  for  there  's  no 
knowing  what  ill-natured  tongues  may  invint." 

This  being  settled,  the  mother  and  daughter  awaited 
the  arrival  of  the  evening  —  the  mother  with  interest, 
the  daughter  with  impatience. 

In  the  mean  time,  Shan  Dhu  was  not  idle.  He 
had  heard  enough  of  the  conversation  between  Kath- 
leen and  his  mother  to  find  that  Rory's  interest  was 
as  strong  with  the  latter  as  the  former,  and  the  thought 
was  poison  to  him.     When  he  found  the  appointment 


Rory  O'More  237 

with  Rory  was  to  be  kept,  he  determined  to  frustrate 
the  happy  result  which  must  ensue  if  it  were  permitted 
to  take  place  without  the  intervention  of  another 
party,  and  he  determined  in  his  own  mind  who  that 
party  should  be.  He  was  no  stranger  to  the  damsel 
whose  blandishments  had  been  thrown  away  upon 
Rory,  and  he  found  that  a  bitter  hatred  existed  against 
him  in  that  quarter :  nevertheless,  though  he  must 
have  known  that  this  could  have  arisen  but  from  one 
cause,  he  it  was  who  was  base  enough  to  insinuate  to 
Kathleen  that  an  attachment  subsisted  between  the 
girl  and   Rory. 

It  was  to  find  this  unfortunate  woman  Shan  Regan 
left  his  house.  He  knew  where  to  seek  her,  and  met 
in  her  a  ready  person  to  act  up  to  his  wishes.  He 
held  out  the  opportunity  of  gratifying  her  revenge 
upon  Rory  thus:  —  to  blast  his  hopes  with  the  girl 
of  his  heart,  by  accusing  him  of  treachery  and  false- 
hood, and  laying  her  shame  to  his  charge. 

To  this  the  nymph  of  the  cellar  assented  ;  and  thus 
is  accounted  for  her  startling  appearance  at  the  rath, 
which  stunned  with  surprise  our  hero  and  Kathleen, 
to  whom  we  must  now  return. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

SHOWING  THAT  MOTHERS  IN  THE  COUNTRY  CONTRIVE 
TO  MARRY  THEIR  DAUGHTERS,  THE  SAME  AS 
MOTHERS    IN    TOWN 

WHEN  Kathleen  saw  the  handsome  features  of 
the  woman  who  had  been  pointed  out  to  her 
on  the  platform  at  the  fair  disclosed  in  the  moonlight, 
she  recognised  them  at  once,  for  they  were  of  that 
striking  character  not  easily  forgotten  ;  and  coming, 
as  she  did,  to  the  rath  in  the  hope  of  having  her 
doubts  of  Rory's  truth  dispelled,  and  instead  of  that 
finding  them  thus  strengthened  by  such  terrible  evi- 
dence, she  shuddered  with  a  faint  scream  and  sank 
to  the  earth. 

"  Look  what  you  've  done  !  "  said  Rory,  stooping 
to  raise  the  fainting  girl,  which  he  did,  and  supported 
her  in  his  arms,  as  he  turned  to  the  ill-omened  in- 
truder, and  said  reproachfully,  "What  did  I  ever  do 
to  deserve  this  ?  " 

"  Do  !  "  said  she,  and  her  eyes  glared  on  him  with 
the  expression  of  a  fiend  —  "Do! — what  a  woman 
never  forgets  nor  forgives  —  and  I  'II  have  my  revenge 
o'  you,  you  cowld-blooded  thief,  I  will !  —  That 's 
your  innocent  girl^  I  suppose!  —  Mighty  innocent 
indeed,  to  meet  a  man  inside  a  rath,  by  the  pleasant 
light  o'  the  moon  !  —  How  innocent  she  is  !  " 

"  May  the  tongue  o'  ye  be  blistered  in  fire,"  said 
Rory  with  fury,  "  that  would   say  the  foul  word  of 


Rory  O'More  239 

her!  Away  wid  you,  you  divil !  the  ground's  not 
wholesome  you   thread   on.      Away   wid  you !  " 

She  shrunk  before  the  withering  words  and  the 
indignant  tone  of  the  lover,  and  retired  to  the  top  of 
the  embankment ;  but  ere  she  descended,  she  stretched 
forth  her  arm  in  the  attitude  of  menace  to  Rory,  and 
said  with  a  voice  in  which  there  was  more  of  hell 
than  earth,  — 

"  Make  the  most  o'  your  innocent  girl  to-night, 
Misther  O'More,  for  it 's  the  last  you  '11  ever  see  of 
her  !  You  think  to  have  her,  you  do,  —  but  she  '11 
never  be  yours  :  for  if  I  pay  my  sowl  for  the  purchase- 
money,  I  '11  have  my  revenge  o'  you  !  —  ha  !  ha  !  — 
remember  my  words  —  never  !  never  !  —  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  " 
and  with  something  between  the  laugh  of  a  maniac 
and  the  howl  of  a  hyena,  she  rushed  down  the  hill, 
leaving  Rory  horrified  at  such  a  fearful  exhibition  of 
depravity. 

When  Rory  proposed  to  Kathleen,  on  their  meet- 
ing, that  they  should  stand  within  the  shadow  of  the 
bridge,  it  may  be  remembered  that  she  refused  to  do 
so ;  for  her  mother,  who  had  accompanied  her,  de- 
cided on  remaining  out  of  sight  in  that  very  spot, 
while  Kathleen  should  enter  the  rath  for  her  confer- 
ence with  Rory. 

She  had  seen  her  daughter  and  our  hero  ascend  to 
the  top  of  the  mound,  and  in  a  very  short  time  after 
was  surprised  to  observe  a  third  person  take  the  same 
course.  This  excited  her  curiosity,  and  she  watched 
anxiously ;  and  it  was  not  long  until  she  saw  the 
figure  descending  the  mound  rapidly,  and  running  to- 
wards the  very  point  where  she  stood.  The  mother 
immediately  crouched  under  some  bushes  to  escape 
observation,  and  the  sound  of  hurried  steps  having 
approached  close  to  her  place  of  ambush,  suddenly 
stopped,  and  she  heard,  in  a  somewhat  low,  but  per- 


240  Rory  O'More 

fcctly  clear  tone,  the  name  of  *'  Shan  "  pronounced, 
and  soon  after  it  was  repeated.  "  Shan  Dhu,"  said 
this  unexpected  intruder. 

"  Here  I  am,"  was  answered  to  the  summons. 

The  name  "  Shan  Dhu  "  being  that  of  her  own 
son,  Kathleen's  mother  had  her  attention  still  more 
aroused  ;  and  the  voice  in  which  the  response  was 
made  induced  her  to  believe  that  it  was  Regan  who 
answered.  Peering  forth  from  the  bushes  as  well  as 
she  might,  she  saw  the  figure  of  a  man  emerge  from 
under  one  of  the  dry  arches  of  the  bridge,  and  then 
there  was  no  longer  a  doubt  on  the  subject ;  —  it  was 
Shan  Regan  who  came  forth  to  meet  the  woman  who 
had  just  run  down  the  hill. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Regan. 

"  I  've  done  it !  "  said  the  woman. 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  were  both  knocked  all  of  a  heap." 

"  But,  did  you  make  her  sinsible  that  the  sneaking 
thief  was  a  black-hearted  desaiver?  "  - 

"  Throth  I  did.     Did  n't  you  hear  her  screech  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Thin  in  throth  she  did.  I  towld  her  that  he  had 
promised  me  before  her,  and  she  dhropt  down  in  a 
fit." 

"That'll  do,"  said  Regan.  "And  now  we  may 
as  well  be  joggin'  since  the  business  is  done;  we 
must  n't  be  seen  near  the  place."  And  he  with  his 
hardened  accomplice  hastened  from  the  spot. 

Kathleen's  mother  remained  for  some  time  in  her 
place  of  concealment,  that  Regan  and  his  abandoned 
companion  might  not  be  aware  of  her  presence. 
During  the  few  minutes  she  felt  it  necessary  to  re- 
main in  concealment,  her  mind  became  fully  impressed 
with  the  conviction  that  some  deception  had  been 
practised  upon   Kathleen,  and  manifestly  through  the 


Rory  O'More  241 

instrumentality  of  her  brother.  When  the  mother 
thought  she  might  emerge  from  her  ambuscade  in 
safety,  she  hastened  up  the  side  of  the  rath;  as  her 
fears  for  her  daughter  had  been  excited  when  she 
heard  that  "  she  had  dropt  down  in  a  iit." 

On  reaching  the  interior  of  the  fort,  she  heard 
Rory  expostulating  with  Kathleen  on  the  improbabil- 
ity of  the  accusation  made  against  him;  for,  before 
the  mother  had  arrived,  Rory  had  contrived,  by  brush- 
ing the  dew  from  the  grass  with  his  hand,  and  sprin- 
kling the  moisture  over  Kathleen's  face,  to  recover  her 
from  the  state  of  insensibilitv  into  which  the  sudden 
appearance  and  fearful  accusation  of  Rory's  enemy 
had  thrown  her. 

"  Oh,  why  did  you  bring  me  here  at  all  ?  "  said 
Kathleen,  in  a  tone  of  agony. 

"To  clear  myself  to  you,  Kathleen,"  said  Rory. 

"Clear  yourself !    Oh,  Rory!  that  dreadful  woman!" 

"  By  all  that  's  sacred,  Kathleen,  I  know  no  more 
about  her  than  the  child  unborn." 

"  Oh,  can  I  b'lieve  it,  afther  all  I  've  heard  and 
seen  Rory  ?      Can  I  b'lieve  it  ?  " 

"  Kathleen,  as  I  hope  to  see  heaven  I  'm  innocent 
of  what  she  accuses  me." 

"  Oh,  1  wish  I  could  b'lieve  it !  "  said  Kathleen 
sobbing. 

"Thin  you  may  b'lieve  it,  my  darlin',"  said  her 
mother,  who  now  joined  them. 

This  fresh  surprise  made  Kathleen  scream  again  ; 
but,  recognising  her  mother,  she  sprang  into  her 
arms. 

"  Oh,  mother  dear!  mother  dear!  but  I  'm  glad  to 
see  you,"  said  the  excited  girl,  who  had  not  caught 
the  meaning  of  the  words  her  mother  uttered.  "  Oh, 
mother!  mother!  you  are  thrue  to  me,  at  all  events; 
you  '11  never  desaive  me." 

VOL.  I. —  16 


242  Rory  O'More 

"  Nor  I  either,  Kathleen,"  said  Rory ;  "  and  sure, 
here  's  your  mother  to  bear  witness  for  me.  Don't 
you  hear  what  she  says  ?  " 

"  What  ?  what  ?  "  said  Kathleen,  bewildered. 

"  Compose  yourself,  dear !  "  said  the  mother. 
"  Don't  b'lieve  the  bad  things  you  've  heard  of  Rory : 
they  're  not  thrue  —  I  'm  sure  they  're  not  thrue." 

"  Bad  luck  to  the  word  !  "  said  Rory,  plucking  up 
his  courage. 

"But  that  woman — "  said  Kathleen,  "where  is 
she  ?  "  and  she  looked  round  in  alarm. 

"She's  gone,  dear,"  said  the  mother  soothingly; 
and  Rory,  in  less  gentle  accents,  made  no  scruple  of 
saying  "  Where  ?  " 

"  Rory,"  said  Kathleen's  mother,  with  a  serious 
tenderness  in  her  manner,  "  I  b'lieve  that  you  love 
my  child,  and  that  you  mane  to  be  thrue  to  her." 

"  May  I  never  see  glory  if  I  don't !  "  said  Rory 
fervently. 

The  mother  took  their  hands,  and  joining  them, 
said,  "  Then  I  give  her  to  you,  Rory,  with  all  the 
the  veins  o'  my  heart;  and  may  my  blessing  be  on 
you  !  " 

Rory  took  the  yielding  girl  tenderly  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  her  unresistingly,  alternately  blessing  her 
and  her  mother  for  making  him  "  the  happiest  fellow 
in  Ireland,"  as  he  said  himself. 

How  all  this  sudden  revolution  of  affairs  in  his 
favour  had  occurred,  Rory  gave  himself  no  trouble  to 
inquire,  —  he  was  content  with  the  knowledge  of  the 
fact ;  and  after  escorting  Kathleen  and  her  mother 
within  sight  of  their  house,  he  turned  his  steps  home- 
ward, and  re-entered  his  cottage  a  happier  man  than 
he  had  left  it. 


CHAPTER   XX 

IN    WHICH    RORY    o'mORE    PROVES    HIMSELF    TO    BE    A 
MAN    OF    LETTERS 

THE  next  morning  Rory  arose  in  high  spirits, 
and  determined  on  amusing  himself  with  a 
piece  of  sarcastic  waggery,  that  he  intended  executing 
upon  Sweeny,  the  reformed  Papist  attorney,  whose 
apostacy  was  a  source  of  great  indignation  to  Rory. 

It  so  happened  that  the  tombstone  of  old  Sweeny, 
the  apothecary,  bearing  the  Popish  phrase,  "  Pray  for 
the  soul  of  Denis  Sweeny,"  stood  most  provokingly 
close  to  the  pathway  leading  to  the  church-door;  so 
that  every  Sunday,  when  his  son  the  attorney  was 
going  to  attend  divine  service  as  by  law  established^  his 
Church-of-Englandism  was  much  scandalised  by  hav- 
ing this  damning  (and  damnable)  proof  of  his  apostacy 
staring  him  in  the  face.  Not  that  he  cared  for  it 
himself:  he  was  one  of  those  callous-hearted  people 
who  could  "  have  botanised  on  his  mother's  grave," 
therefore  this  proof  of  his  former  creed  on  the  grave 
of  his  father  could  have  given  him  no  trouble  ;  but 
he  did  not  like  the  evidence  to  remain  there  in  the 
sight  of  other  people,  and  he  had  asked  Rory  O'More 
how  the  nuisance  could  be  abated. 

Our  hero  was  indignant  with  the  petty-minded 
pettifogger,  and  wished  to  retaliate  upon  him  for  the 
renunciation  of  his  old  creed  ;  for  the  Roman  Catho- 
lics have  the  same  bitter  feeling  against  the  man  who 
secedes  from  their  profession  of  faith,  as  those  of  the 


244  Rory  O'More 

Church  of  England  entertain  against  the  dissenters 
from  them. 

So  Rory,  after  hearing  the  attorney's  complaint, 
said  he  thought  he  could  rectify  the  objectionable 
passage  on  the  tombstone.  How  he  accomplished 
this  will  be  seen. 

After  breakfast  he  asked  De  Lacy  would  he  go 
over  to  see  "  the  churches,"  as  the  old  burial-place  in 
the  neighbourhood  was  called,  where  the  ruins  of 
some  monastic  buildings  stood,  one  of  which  had 
been  repaired  and  roofed  in  for  the  parish  church. 
De  Lacy  assented  to  the  proposal,  and  Rory  sug- 
gested that  they  should  endeavour  to  get  Phelim 
O'Flanagan  to  accompany  them. 

"•  His  school  lies  in  our  way,"  said  Rory,  *■'■  and  we 
may  as  well  ax  him  to  come ;  for  there  is  a  power  of 
owld  anshint  tombstones  in  it,  in  owld  Irish,  and  he 
can  explain  them  to  you,  sir." 

True  it  was,  that  here  many  an  ancient  gravestone 
stood,  mingled  with  those  of  later  days;  —  the  former 
bearing  the  old  Irish 

op  bo. 

the  latter,  the 

PRAY    FOR  — 

showing,  that  though  conquest  had  driven  the  aborig- 
inal Irish  from  the  spot,  the  religion,  though  not  the 
language  of  the  people,  had  survived  their  down- 
fall. 

And  here  what  a  striking  evidence  is  given  of  the 
inutility  of  penal  laws!  —  nay,  worse  than  inutility; 
for  prohibition  seems  to  act  on  human  nature  rather 
as  a  productive  than  a  preventive  cause  of  the  thing 
forbidden,  and  the  religion  of  the  Irish,  like  their 
native  shamrock,  by  being  trampled  on,  becomes  pro- 
lific. 


Rory  O'More  245 

Their  language  is  passing  away,  though  it  was  not 
penal  to  speak  it ;  but  their  religion  has  lasted  because 
penalty  attended  its  profession,  and  the  faith  of  a 
persecuted  people  is  still  recorded  in  the  language  of 
the  oppressor. 

Thanks  to  God  !  the  days  of  persecution  are  past ; 
and  fair  fame  to  England  in  cancelling  from  her 
statutes  the  unjust  aud  unholy  penalties  that  man,  in 
his  bigoted  profanity,  had  dared  to  interpose  between 
the  worship  of  the  creature  to  the  Creator ! 

And  Fortune  never  dispensed  a  brighter  honour  on 
her  favourite  than  in  shedding  over  the  name  of 
Wellington- the  glory  of  being  the  agent  of  this 
blessing  to  his  native  land.  This  ming-lins  of  the 
olive  with  his  laurels  increases  their  brightness  as  it 
will  their  endurance  :  for  when  many  a  victory  he 
has  won  shall  cease  to  be  remembered,  the  emancipa- 
tion of  his  country  from  the  bondage  of  bigotry  will 
never  be  foro^otten  ;  and  soothing  be  the  thousht  in 
the  hero's  last  hour,  that  though  many  of  his  achieve- 
ments have  evoked  the  curses  of  a  foreign  land,  this 
greatest  triumph  of  his  life  will  be  remembered  with 
blessings  bv  his  countrymen  ! 

When  Phelim  was  asked  to  bear  De  Lacy  and  our 
hero  company,  he  was  immersed  in  the  mysteries  of 
his  school,  and  could  not  immediately  accompany 
them  ;  but  he  promised  to  follow  soon,  and  for  that 
purpose  gave  his  scholars  half  a  holiday,  for  which 
beneficence  on  his  part  they  threw  up  their  hats, — 
that  is,  such  of  them  as  had  any  ;  while  those  of  them 
who  had  not,  made  up  the  deficiency  by  extra  shout- 
ing; and  Phelim,  his  school  being  dismissed,  followed 
De  Lacy  and  Rory  to  ''  the  churches." 

This  burial-ground  was  not  more  than  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  from  the  village  -,  yet,  though  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood   of    man's    habitation    it    was    particularly 


246  Rory  O'More 

lonely  ;  for,  except  on  Sunday,  when  the  small  Pro- 
testant congregation  went  to  divine  service,  or  that 
the  occasion  of  a  funeral  called  the  peasantry  to  the 
spot,  it  was  little  frequented. 

Indeed,  a  churchyard  is  generally  avoided ;  nor  can 
it  be  wondered  at  that  the  resting-place  of  the  dead 
should  have  an  appalling  influence  on  the  ignorant 
and  superstitious,  when  even  to  the  most  enlightened 
there  is  a  chastened  and  solemn  tone  of  feeling  pro- 
duced on  entering  a  place  of  sepulture. 

Much  of  this  feeling  is  lessened,  or  at  least  the  in- 
dulgence of  it  is  in  a  more  elevated  tone,  when  we 
walk  through  the  range  of  magnificent  monuments 
lining  the  vaulted  aisle  of  some  noble  abbey.  Here 
the  vanity  of  our  nature  is  indirectly  flattered  by  wit- 
nessing the  tribute  that  posterity  pays  to  greatness, 
and  Glory  more  than  half  divides  the  triumph  with 
Death.  But  in  the  lonely  country  churchyard,  where 
some  plain  headstone  or  nameless  mound  of  earth  is 
all  that  is  left  to  tell  that  there  rests  a  being  once  in- 
stinct with  life  as  ourselves,  and  where,  instead  of 
vaulted  roof  and  clustered  columns,  the  ruins  of  some 
lowly  chapel  stand,  they,  like  all  around,  telling  of 
decay,  —  there  it  is  that  the  contemplation  of  mortal- 
ity exercises  its  most  depressing  influence,  and  the 
thought  of  death  strikes  coldly  on  the  heart. 

De  Lacy  accompanied  Ror)'  to  the  burial-place, 
which  stood  on  a  small  mound,  the  gravestones  rising 
in  bare  relief  against  the  sky,  which  here  and  there 
peeped  through  the  shattered  mullions  of  some  win- 
dow in  the  ruined  wall  of  one  of  the  little  churches, 
giving  an  air  of  peculiar  desolation  to  the  place, 
which  was  increased,  perhaps,  by  the  slated  roof  of 
one  of  them,  which  was  repaired  and  employed  as  the 
Protestant  parish  church.  A  pathway  led  to  this 
building,  and  Rory  came  to  a  stand  where,  on  one 


Rory  O'More  247 

side   of  the  path,  stood   a  rather  conspicuous  tomb- 
stone with  this  inscription  :  — 

Pray  for  the  soul  of 

Denis  Sweeny, 
who  departed,  &c. 

"  Do  you  see  that  ?  "  said    Rory  to  De  Lacy. 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  that  's  what  brings  me  here  to-day." 

"  How  ?  "  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Why,  that 's  owld  Denny  Sweeny's  tombstone  ; 
and  you  see  the  poor  owld  fellow  axes  every  one  to 
pray  for  his  sowl  —  and  why  not? — and  indeed  I 
hope  he  's  in  glory.  Well,  you  see  by  that  he  was  a 
good  Catholic,  and  a  dacent  man  he  was  ;  and  when 
he  died,  he  ordhered  the  same  tombstone  to  be  put 
over  him,  and  paid  my  own  father  for  cuttin'  the 
same." 

"  Is  it  after  he  died  ? "  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Oh,  no  —  you  know  what  I  mane  ;  but  sure  a 
slip  o'  the  tongue  does  n't  matther.  Well,  as  I  was 
sayin',  my  father  cut  the  same  tombstone  —  and  a 
nate  bit  o'  work  it  is  ;  see  the  iligant  crass  an  it,  and 
cut  so  deep  that  the  divil  would  n't  get  it  out  of  it, 
—  God  forgi'  me  for  sayin'  divil  to  the  crass  !" 

"  It 's  deep  enough,  indeed,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Ay,  and  so  I  towld  that  dirty  brat.  Sweeny  — 
the  'turney,  I  mane  —  when  he  axed  me  about  it. 
What  do  you  think  he  wants  me  to  do  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"  To  take  it  back  for  half-price,  perhaps,"  said 
De  Lacy. 

"'Faith,  he  has  n't  that  much  fun  in  him  to  think 
of  sitch  a  thing." 

"  What  was  it,  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  he  wants  me  to  althcr  it,"  said  Rory. 

"  For  himself,  I  hope  ?  "  said  De  Lacy. 


248  Rory  O'More 

"  No,"  said  Rory  ;  "  though  in  throth  I  'd  do  that 
with  pleasure,  for  he  'd  be  no  loss  to  king  or  counthry. 
But,  as  I  was  tellin'  you,  he  comes  to  me  the  other 
day,  and  towld  me  it  was  disgraceful  to  see  sitch  a 
thing  as  *•  pray  for  the  sowl '  on  his  father's  tombstone 
in  sitch  enlightened  times  as  these,  when  people  knew 
betther  than  to  pray  for  people's  sowls. 

"'They  might  do  worse,'  says  I. 

"  '  It  might  do  for  the  dark  ages,'  says  he,  '  but  it 
won't  do  now  ;  '  laying  it  all  on  the  dark  ages,  by  the 
way^  jist  as  if  people  did  n't  know  that  it  was  bekaze 
when  he  goes  to  church  every  Sunday  his  poor  honest 
father's  tombstone  stares  him  in  the  face,  the  same  as 
if  the  voice  out  of  the  grave  called  to  him  and  said, 
'  Oh,  thin,  Dinny,  my  boy,  is  it  goin'  to  church  you 
are  ? '  Not  that  he  'd  mind  that,  for  the  cowld- 
hearted  thief  has  n't  the  feelin'  to  think  of  it ;  but 
it's  the  dirty  pride  of  the  little  animal ;  —  he  doesn't 
like  the  rale  Prodestants  to  see  the  thing  stan'in'  in 
evidence  agin  him.  So  I  thought  I  'd  divart  myself 
a  bit  with  him,  and  says  I,  '  sure  the  tombstone 
does  n't  do  you  nor  any  body  else  any  harm.'  —  'Yes, 
it  does,'  says  he  ;  'it  stands  in  evidence  agin  my 
father's  common    sinse,   and   I  'm  ashamed  of  it.' 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Rory  feelingly,  "  what  luck  can  the 
man  have  that  says  he 's  ashamed  of  his  father's 
grave  !  "  The  feeling  and  touching  appeal  reached 
De  Lacy's  heart.  Rory  continued — "Ashamed, 
indeed  !  —  Throth,  an'  well  he  may  say  he 's 
ashamed  !  —  not  for  his  father,  though  —  no  —  but 
well  may  he  be  ashamed   to  change  his  creed  !  " 

"  You  should  n't  blame  any  man  for  his  religious 
belief,  Rory,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"  No  more  I  would,  sir,  if  it  was  his  belief  that  he 
was  reared  in  ;  but " 

"Oh!"    said    De   Lacy,   interrupting  him,   "if  a 


Rory  O'More  249 

man  feels  that  he  has  been  instructed  in  a  belief  which 
his  conscience  will  not  permit  him  to  follow " 

"  Sure,  sir,"  said  Rory,  interrupting  in  his  turn, 
"  I  would  n't  blame  him  for  that  neither  :  but  is  it 
Sweeny  vou  think  does  it  for  that  ?  not  he,  in  throth, 
—  it 's  jist  for  the  lucre,  and  nothin'  else.  And  sure, 
if  he  had  the  feeling  in  him  to  love  his  father,  sure  it 's 
not  ahherin'  his  tombstone  he  'd  be,  that  was  made 
by  his  father's  own  directions  :  and  suppose  he  thinks 
that  he  ought  to  be  a  Prodestant  ever  so  much,  sure 
is  n't  it  bad  of  him  to  intherfare  with  his  poor  father's 
dvin'  request  that  they  would  pray  for  his  sowl  ?  " 

"  That  I  grant  you,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Well,  he  comes  to  me  to  ask  me  to  alther  it. 
'  For  what  ? '  says  I.  '  Bekaze  I  'm  ashamed  of  it,' 
says  he.  — '  Why  ? '  says  I.  '  Bekaze  it 's  only 
Poper}','  says  he.  — '  Well,'  says  I,  '  if  it 's  Popery 
ever  so  much,  sure  it 's  your  father's  doin',  —  and  any 
shame  there  is  in  it,  it  is  to  him,  and  not  to  you,  and 
so  you  need  n't  care  about  it ;  and  if  your  father  did 
wish  people  to  pray  for  his  sowl,  I  think  it  very  bad  o' 
you  to  wish  to  prevent.'  —  'It  can  do  him  no  good,' 
says  he.  — '  It  can  do  him  no  harm,  anyhow,'  says  I. 

"  So  he  could  n't  get  over  that  very  well,  and  made 
no  answer  about  the  good  or  the  harm  of  it,  and  said 
he  did  n't  want  to  argue  the  point  with  me,  but  that 
he  wanted  it  althered  ;  and  as  my  father  done  the 
job,  he  thought  I  was  the  person  to  alther  it.  '  And 
how  do  you  want  it  changed  .?  '  says  I.  —  '  Take  out 
"  Pray  for  the  sowl :  '"  says  he,  '  that's  nothing  but 
Poper\'.'  —  '  My  father  always  cut  the  sowl  very  deep,* 
savs  I,  '  and  to  take  it  out  is  impossible ;  but  if  it 's 
only  the  Popery  you  object  to,  I  can  alther  it  if  you 
like,  so  that  you  can  have  nothing  to  say  agin  it.'  — 
*  How  ? '  says  he.  —  'Oh,  let  me  alone,'  says  I. 
'  You  're  no  sculpture^  says  I,  '  and  don't  know  hov.' 


250  Rory  0' More 

I  '11  do  it ;  but  you  '11  see  yourself  when  it  's  done/  — 
*  You  won't  charge  me  much  ?  '  says  he.  —  '  I  '11 
charge  you  nothing,'  says  I ;  'I'm  not  a  mason  by 
thrade,  and  I  '11  do  the  job  for  love.'  — '  But  how  do 
you  mane  to  do  it?'  says  he  agin. — 'Oh,  never 
mind,'  says  I  ;  '  go  your  ways,  I  'U  do  the  job  com- 
plate,  and  next  Sunday,  when  you  go  to  church, 
you  '11  see  the  divil  a  bit  o'  Popery  will  be  in  the 
same  tombstone.'  — '  That 's  all  I  want,'  says  he. 
—  'Thin  we'll  be  both  plazed,'  says  I.  —  And  now 
I  'm  come  here  to-day  to  do  the  very  thing." 

"  And  how  do  you  mean  to  effect  the  alteration, 
Rory  ?  "  said  De  Lacy. 

"As  aisy  as  kiss  hand,"  said  Rory.  "  Jist  do  you 
amuse  yourself  with  looking  into  the  churches;  there  's 
some  quare  carvings  round  the  windows  and  doors, 
and  a  mighty  curious  owld  stone  crass  up  there  be- 
yant.  Or,  if  you  like,  sir,  sit  down  beside  me  here 
with  your  book,  and  you  can  read  while  I  work." 

De  Lacv  had  not  been  long  engaged  in  reading,  when 
old  Phelim  made  his  appearance;  and  with  so  amusing 
a  cicerone,  De  Lacy  passed  a  couple  of  hours  pleasantly 
enough  in  looking  over  the  antiquities  of  the  place. 

After  the  lapse  of  that  period,  Rory  had  com- 
pleted his  task,  and  sought  his  friends  to  show  them 
how  thoroughly  he  had  neutralised  the  Popery  that 
had  so  much  distressed  Sweeny. 

"  How  could  you  have  done  it  so  soon  .  "  said  De 
Lacy. 

"  Oh,  I  won't  tell  you  —  you  must  see  it  yourself," 
said  Rory.  "  It  is  the  simplest  thing  in  life  —  four 
letthers  did  it  all."  Rory  now  conducted  De  Lacy 
and  Phelim  to  the  tombstone,  and  the  moment  they 
stood  before  it  they  both  indulged  in  hearty  laughter. 
Rory  had  carved  over  the  objectionable  request  the 
phrase  "  don't,"  so  that  the  inscription  ran  thus  :  — 


i^ ,7ie4i^  'Cu^^' ,,AH/  'yA^/^-f'  t/i/ 


Rory  0' More  251 

don't 

Pray  for  the  soul  of 

Denis  Sweeny. 

"  Is  n't  that  the  thing  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"  Capital !  "  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Is  n't  that  sarving  the  little  viper  right !  You 
see  he  dar  n't  say  at  wanst,  out,  honest,  that  he  was 
ashamed  for  his  own  sake^  bekaze  he  was  a  turncoat ; 
but  he  lays  the  blame  on  the  Popery.  Oh,  in  throth, 
there 's  many  a  dirty  turn  and  many  a  cruel  thing 
done  on  us  ;  and  thim  that  does  the  thing  is  ashamed 
to  own  to  the  right  cause,  and  so  they  lay  the  blame  on 
the  Popery.  By  my  sowl !  they  ought  to  be  obleeged 
to  Popery  for  giving  them  sitch  a  convanient  excuse 
for  not  havin'  things  called  by  their  right  names." 

"  But  won't  Sweeny  be  very  angry  about  it  ?  " 

"  'Faith,  to  be  sure  he  will,"  said  Phelim,  shaking 
his  head.  "  Rory,  ma  bouchal^  though  I  can't  deny 
your  wit,  I  cannot  complimint  you  with  an  epitha- 
lamium  upon  your  prudence  :  you  have  made  that 
little  bitther  attorney  your  inimy  to  the  ind  o'  time." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Rory  ;  "  but  what  do  I  care  ?  " 

"  Rory,  my  boy,  Prudence,  Prudentia^  as  the  Latins 
had  it,  —  Prudence,  my  boy,  is  one  of  the  cardinial 
virtues." 

"  Well,  to  expose  humbuggin'  is  as  cardinial  as  ever 
it  was." 

"  So  you  won't  listen  to  me  ?  —  Magister  docet^  sed 
vos  vero  negUgit'ts." 

"Well,  who  's  sayin'  it 's  prudent  ?  — But  all  I  stand 
up  for  is  the  altheration  ;   and  is  n't  that  complate  I  " 

"That  there  is  no  denyin',"  said  Phelim. 

"  And  all  with  four  letthers  !  " 

"You  have  demonstherated  it  as  complate  wid 
four,"  said  Phelim,  "as  I  do  my  mattamatics  wid 
three— Q.  E.  D." 


-D- 


Rory  O'More 


"  By  dad  !  I  have  a  great  mind  to  put  Q.  E.  D.  at 
the  end  of  it  all,"  said  Rory. 

"  For  what  ?  "  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Bekase  it  is  zvhat  was  to  be  demonstherated"  said 
Rory. 

"  'Faith,  I  'm  glad  to  see  you  remember  your  mat- 
tamatics  still,"  said  Phelim. 

"  Would  n't  it  be  grate  fun  !  "  said  Rory. 

"It's  bad  enough  as  it  is,"  said  De  Lacy,  "with- 
out making  matters  worse.  I  am  afraid,  Rory,  this 
was  very  unwise." 

"Yet  you  can't  help  laughin'  at  it,"  said  Rory. 

"  Indeed  I  can't,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Well,  and  so  will  the  Prodestants  laugh  at  that 
contimptible  little  upstart  when  they  see  it,  and  that's 
all  I  want.  There  's  nothing  an  upstart  feels  half  so 
much  as  a  laugh  against  him,"  said  Rory,  making  a 
sagacious  comment  upon  his  own  imprudent  act. 

"Quite  true,"  said  De  Lacy,  "and  therefore  the 
attorney  will  never  forgive  you." 

"  The  beauty  of  it  is,"  said  Rory,  still  enjoying  his 
joke,  "  that  he  can't  complain  openly  about  it ;  for  all 
he  said,  was  that  he  was  ashamed  about  the  Popery  of 
it.    Now,  I've  taken  the  Popery  out  of  it,  at  all  events." 

"  Certainly,"  said  De  Lacy;  "  but,  at  the  same  time, 
you  have  increased  Sweeny's  cause  of  inquietude  by 
making  the  offensive  phrase  more  obnoxious." 

"  That 's  what  I  meant  to  do,"  said  Rory  boldly  ; 
"  I  've  caught  him  in  his  own  thrap.  The  Httle 
scheming  'turney  complained  only  about  the  Popery ; 
now,  with  four  letthers  I  've  desthroyed  more  Popery 
than  the  parson  could  do  with  twice  as  many." 

"  Upon  my  word,  Rory,"  said  De  Lacy,  smiling, 
"  many  men  of  letters  have  failed  with  the  whole 
alphabet  to  alter  a  text  so  completely  as  you  have 
done  with  four." 


CHAPTER   XXI 

IN  WHICH  SHAN  REGAN  AND  SOLDERING  SOLOMON 
GIVE  A  TOUCH  OF  THEIR  QUALITY,  AND  RORY 
UNDERGOES    A    TRIAL    OF  TEMPER 

ALTHOUGH  Regan's  mother  had  discovered 
his  perfidy  towards  his  sister  and  Rory,  and 
relieved  them  from  the  consequences  that  might  have 
ensued  from  it,  she  did  not  reveal  to  Rory  the  treachery 
of  u^hich  her  son  had  been  guilty,  —  for  still  he  was 
her  son,  and  with  a  mother's  tenderness  she  sought 
to  screen  him,  in  the  eyes  of  our  hero,  from  the  con- 
tempt which  so  base  a  means  of  indulging  his  dislike 
must  have  produced. 

But  she  saw  how  deep  the  hatred  to  Rory  must  be 
on  Regan's  part,  to  urge  him  to  such  practices  as  he 
had  exercised  against  him,  and  until  matters  were 
riper  for  a  disclosure,  —  in  fact,  until  Kathleen  and 
he  should  be  just  going  to  be  married, —  she  begged 
of  Rory  to  say  nothing  about  what  had  passed  ;  for  if 
it  came  to  Shan's  knowledge,  he  would  be  "  showing 
his  temper  "  at  home,  and  it  was  as  well  not  to  vex 
him  until  the  time  came  when  the  definite  step  could 
be  taken  which  would  render  his  anger  of  no  avail ; 
for  though  she  would  not  betray  to  Rory  the  baseness 
of  her  son,  she  had  no  hesitation  in  owning  that  he 
was  not  his  friend. 

It  was  with  this  understanding  that  Rory  and 
Kathleen  parted  the  night  of  their  meeting  at  the 
rath.      But  though  Mrs.  Regan   kept  the  means  of 


254  Rory  O'More 

her  knowledge  a  secret  from  Rory,  she  revealed  to 
her  daughter  how  she  became  possessed  of  the  knowl- 
edge that  exposed  the  treacherous  influence  employed 
to  ruin  the  hopes  of  two  innocent  people,  not  only 
to  satisfy  Kathleen's  inquiries  of  how  her  mother 
could  vouch  for  Ror)''s  conduct,  but  in  order  to  put 
Kathleen  on  her  guard  against  betraying  to  her 
brother  any   symptom  of  his  plot  having  failed. 

"  For  what  would  we  do  if  he  thought  we  found 
him  out  !  " 

Miserable  mother !  whose  only  hope  of  domestic 
quiet  lay  in  seeming  to  be  ignorant  of  the  ruffianism 
of  her  child. 

With  all  her  caution,  however,  though  Kathleen 
did  not  betray  any  symptoms  of  happiness  in  her 
brother's  presence,  and  subdued  her  looks  and  manner 
as  much  as  possible,  still  Regan  was  not  quite  satis- 
fied with  the  apparent  state  of  things  at  home  :  not 
that  he  suspected  his  plot  had  been  discovered,  but 
he  feared  that  it  had  not  been  sufficiently  effective, 
or  that  Kathleen  would  exhibit  more  distress.  He, 
therefore,  went  further  in  endeavouring  to  depreciate 
Rory  O'More  in  every  thing  he  could  say  and  do, 
not  only  at  home,  but  abroad. 

There  are  some  natures  so  essentially  vile  that 
they  can  never  forgive  another's  success.  Such  was 
Regan's.  But  to  this  habitual  baseness  of  mind,  was 
added  the  stimulus  of  dislike  in  Rory's  affair  ;  and 
that  his  sister's  attachment  to  him  seemed  still  to 
survive  the  threats  and  falsehoods  and  machinations 
urged  against  it,  increased  that  dislike.  But  it  was 
Rory's  triumph  over  him  at  the  fair  that  completed 
the  sum  of  his  hatred.  This,  Regan  looked  upon  as 
a  personal  disgrace,  and  the  remembrance  of  it  sank 
deep  in  his  heart ;  and  deeper  and  deeper  it  sank 
every  day,  and  the  depth  of  the  remembrance  called 


Rory  0^ More  255 

for  a  greater  measure  of  revenge.  Until  this  could 
be  satisfied,  he  in  the  mean  time  got  up  a  piece  of 
slander  against  Rory,  by  falsifying  all  the  circum- 
stances of  the  visit  to  the  fair. 

This  he  did  with  the  most  thorough  malevolence 
and  injurious  perversion  of  all  the  facts.  He  spoke 
amongst  his  fellows,  openly  in  the  public-houses, 
where  most  of  his  time  was  spent,  in  a  spirit  of  jeer- 
ing slightingness  of  Mary  O'More  being  "gallivanted 
round  the  fair  by  that  omadhaun  Conolly, —  and 
thrated  Misther  Rory,  too,  I  hear.  Well,  people  's 
changed !  I  thought,  wanst,  that  Rory  had  more 
sperit  than  to  be  takin'  thrates  from  another  man, 
on  account  of  his  sisther's   purty   face." 

Now,  though  he  got  hearers  who  were  base 
enough  to  listen  to  this,  he  did  not  find  one  to 
believe  him,  for  they  were  well  aware  of  the  secret 
and  real  cause  of  his  spleen.  But  this  disparagement 
did  not  satisfy  him  :  —  there  was  another  and  a  viler 
misrepresentation  of  which  he  was  guilty.  The  busi- 
ness of  the  ducks,  which,  if  truly  told,  he  knew 
would  only  raise  a  laugh  against  him,  he  twisted  with 
the  true  serpent  spirit  that  actuated  him,  into  a  crime, 
and,  with  the  expression  of  regret  which  is  so  often 
the  outward  sign  of  the  secret  rejoicing  of  the  bad 
man's  heart,  he  declared  he  was  sorry  that  Rory  "  let 
himself  down  so  much,  for  he  thought  he  was  above 
Stalin  a  poor  pitiful  pair  o'  ducks  :  throth,  it  was  n't 
worth  while  bein'  a  thief  (or  such  a  thrijle." 

All  this  in  the  course  of  a  few  days  travelled  to 
the  next  parish,  where  Rory  lived ;  for  even  in 
sylvan  scenes  the  dryads  have  it  not  all  to  them- 
selves,—  there  be  evil  geniuses  in  the  country  as 
well  as  the  town,  and  "  d — d  good-natured  friends  " 
are  to  be  found  everywhere  ;  and  some  of  these  same 
good-natured  folk  told  Rory  what  was  said  of  him. 


256  Rory  O^More 

The  first  bearer  of  tlie  disagreeable  intelligence 
was  Old  Solomon  the  tinker,  who  delighted  in  hav- 
ing it  in  his  power  to  say  bitter  things  of  every  body, — 
or  even  to  them,  when  he  could  do  it  by  innuendo, 
a  favourite  weapon  of  his,  and  one  which  he  used 
like  a  master. 

It  happened,  during  the  day  Rory  and  De  Lacy 
went  to  "•  the  churches,"  that  Old  Solomon  paid  the 
Widow  O'More  a  visit.  In  doing  this  he  had  two 
objects  :  in  the  first  place,  he  enacted  guide  to  De 
Welskein,  who  wanted  to  see  De  Lacy  ;  and  in  the 
next,  he  was  sure  of  "  entertainment,"  as  the  sign- 
boards have  it,   for  himself  and   his  ass. 

He  was  kindly  received  at  the  cottage  of  the 
widow,  and  had  some  fresh  buttermilk  and  good 
potatoes  given  him,  with  a  seat  in  the  chimney 
corner  into  the  bargain,  where  he  roasted  his  shins, 
and  smoked  his  pipe,  and  said  sour  things  of  half 
the  country, —  and,  in  short,  made  himself  perfectly 
happy.  But  after  spending  a  couple  of  hours  thus, 
he  began  to  exhibit  symptoms  of  impatience  at  Rory's 
absence ;  for  he  wanted  to  proceed  further,  and  yet 
did  not  like  to  go  without  giving  to  Rory  the  plea- 
sant intimation  that  he  was  gaining  the  reputation 
of  being  a  very  ingenious  purloiner  of  other  people's 
property  :  — waiting  to  wound  the  man,  the  hospita- 
ble shelter  of  whose  roof  he  had  enjoyed,  not  only 
then,  but  at  all  times.  And  this,  he  must  have  been 
conscious,  arose  from  pure  good-heartedness  :  for  his 
habitual  influence  through  the  motive  of  fear  did  not 
exist  there  as  in  other  places,  Rory  being  too  sharp 
a  fellow  to  let  Solomon  exercise  such  a  power  over 
him  ;  and  it  was  partly  this  fact  that  made  the  old 
scoundrel  the  more  anxious  to  gall,  at  least,  where  he 
could  not  govern. 

De  Welskein   waited  patiently  enough  the  return 


Rory  O'More  257 

of  De  Lacy,  as  he  consoled  himself  with  making 
compliments  to  Mary  O'More,  and  doing  the  agree- 
able, as  Frenchmen  generally  do :  but  Solomon 
from  time  to  time  went  from  the  fireplace  to  the 
door  to  look  out  for  Rory,  whom,  at  last,  he  saw 
approaching. 

When  Rory  entered  the  cottage,  he  welcomed  De 
Welskein,  who  seemed  rather  constrained  in  his 
manner  towards  him,  and  asked  for  De  Lacy ;  Rory 
informed  him  he  would  soon  return,  —  that  he  left 
him  and  Phelim  behind  in  the  churchyard,  looking 
over  some  old  tombstones,  but  that  they  would  not 
be  long  absent. 

"  And  how  are  you,  Sol.  ?  "  said  Rory. 

"  Oh,  as  well  as  any  one  wishes  me,"  replied 
Solomon  bitterly. 

"  What  are  you  in  sitch  a  hurry  for  ?  "  asked 
Rory  ;  "  sure  you  are  not  goin'  yet  ?  "  This  was 
said  in  pure  hospitality,  for  Rory  did  not  like  the 
old  cynic. 

"  Yis,  yis,  — you  've  had  enough  of  me." 

"Well,"  said  Rory,  "  plaze  yourself  and  you'll 
live  the  longer." 

"  Throth,  thin,  the  more  one  lives,  the  more  one 
wondhers,"  said  Solomon.  "  Rory  avic^^  added  he, 
"  will  you  go  and  get  me  the  ass  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Rory,  who  went  to  the  out- 
house, where  the  ass  had  been  enjoying  a  good  feed, 
as  well  as  his  master.  Reloading  him  with  his  pan- 
niers, containing  Solomon's 

"  Nippers,  twisters,  sand,  and  resin," 

as  well  as  the  three  ancient  pots  and  pans,  Rory  led 
the  animal  forth  to  where  Solomon  stood  awaiting 
his  approach,  before  the  door  of  the  cottage ;  and 
when  Rory  halted  the  beast  before  him,  the  old 
VOL.  I.  — 17 


258  Rory  O'More 

tinker  began  very  carefully  to  examine  every  par- 
ticular of  his  ass's  furniture  and  appendages,  not 
forgetting  the  three  old  rusty  kettles  that  dangled 
from  the  straddle. 

Rory  inquired  if  any  thing  was  wrong  ?  —  "  Oh, 
it 's  no  harm  to  see  if  all 's  right,"  said  Solomon. 

*'  Why,  would  n't  it  be  right  ? "  said  Rory. 
"  Have  n't  I  put  on  this  sthraddle  and  panniers,  and 
kittles,  often  enough  before  ?  " 

"Oh  yis,  —  but  1  was  only  seein' — one,  two, 
three,  —  I  was  only  seein'  if  all  was  safe  ;  one  can't 
be  too  sure  these  times  ;  —  one,  two,  three  :  "  and  he 
very  carefully  repeated  his  scrutiny  of  the  three  old 
kettles  as  he  leisurely  pronounced  "  one,  two,  three." 

Rory's  attention  was  aroused  by  this  repetition  of 
the  words  which  were  the  signal  to  the  smuggler ; 
and  fancying  for  a  moment  that  Solomon  might  have 
discovered  his  agency  in  the  affair,  he  became  very 
uneasy,  and  said,  — 

"  What  do  you  mane  by  reckoning  over  one,  two, 
three,   so  often  ?  " 

"  Oh,  these  is  quare  times,"  said  Solomon. 

This  increased  Rory's  uneasiness.  "  How  do  you 
mane  ?  "  said  he. 

"  And  a  quare  world,  so  it  is,  —  one,  two,  three." 

"  What  the  dickins  are  you  at  with  your  '  one, 
two,  three  ? '  "  said  Rory,  whose  anxiety  increased. 

"  Only  jist  seein'  that  my  property  's  safe,"  said 
Solomon,  giving  a  look  at  Rory,  which  our  hero 
could  not  understand,  for,  his  mind  still  reverting  to 
the  signals,  could  not  reach  the  meaning  which  Solo- 
mon wished  to  convey,  and  he  was  yet  unsatisfied 
what  Solomon's  reckoning  the  kettles  meant.  How- 
ever, as  the  tinker  went  through  that  process  again, 
and  still  repeated  "  one,  two,  three,"  Rory  said 
impatiently,  — 


Rory  O'More  259 

"  Tare  an'  ouns !  is  it  thim  owld  kittles  you  're 
reckonin'  agin  ?  " 

"  Jist  countin'  thim,  —  is  there  any  harm  in 
that  ?  "  said  the  tinker  :  "  it  's  betther  be  sure  than 
sorr)-." 

"  Countin'  thim  !  "  said  Rory,  looking  at  him  with 
all  his  eyes.  "  ^^hy,  sure  you  never  had  more  nor 
three  owld  rusty  kittles  in  your  life  ;  and  they  're  so 
well  known  over  the  counthry,  that  no  one  would 
think  to  make  their  own  of  thim,  supposin'  they  wor 
worth  Stalin'." 

"  Oh,  some  people  has  quare  tastes  for  what  be- 
longs to  other  people,"  said  Solomon  significantly,  — 
"  one,  two,  three, —  and  a  kittle  might  tickle  some 
people's  fancy." 

"  The  divil  tickle  you  and  your  fancy  !  "  said 
Rory,  waxing  angry.  "  Why,  barrin'  one  wanted  to 
hunt  a  mad  dog  with  it,  bad  luck  to  the  use  any  one 
would  have  with  your  owld  kittles  !  " 

"  Maybe  so,"  said  Solomon  with  great  composure ; 
"  but  you  see,"  he  added,  "  some  people  is  so  handy 
at  staling  a  pair  o'  ducks,  that  no  one  knows  but  my 
poor  kittles  might  go  asthray  :  "  and  he  cast  a  pro- 
voking glance  at  Rory.  —As  quick  as  lightning,  the 
truth  flashed  upon  O'More's  mind,  that  the  frolic  at 
the  fair  had  been  misrepresented ;  and  though  glad  to 
find  his  fears  regarding  the  discovery  of  the  signals 
were  unfounded,  yet  with  flushed  cheek  and  dilated 
eye,  he  said  in  a  tone  in  which  wounded  pride  more 
than  anger  was  predominant,  "  What  do  you  mane  ?  " 

"  Oh,  laste  said  is  soonest  mended,"  said  the 
tinker; — "one,  two,  three;  —  I  see  they're  all 
safe.      Good  evenin'  to  you,   Rory." 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Rory,  confronting  him  ;  "  explain  to 
me  your  dark  meaning,  and  don't  lave  an  affront  at 
the  door  you  were  always  welkim  at  ?  " 


26o  Rory  O'More 

"  Flow  have  I  affronted  you  ? "  said  Solomon, 
whose  frigid  coolness  of  age  was  in  startling  relief  to 
the  excited  fervour  of  the  young  man  who  stood  be- 
fore him. 

"  You  made  a  dark  hint  jist  now,"    said  Rory. 

"  Make  light  of  it,  Rory,  ma  bouchal"  said  the 
tinker,  taking  the  halter  of  his  ass  in  token  of  de- 
parture. 

"  You  shan't  go  that  way,"  said  Rory,  begin- 
ning to  lose  his  temper ;  and  he  laid  his  hand  on 
the  old  man's  shoulder  in  the  action  of  detention, 
but  at  the  same  time  with  a  proper  degree  of  deference 
to  his  age. 

"  And  is  it  stoppin'  a  man  on  the  road  you  are 
now  ?  "  said  the  tinker  with  a  low,  spiteful  chuckle  : 
"  throth,  you 're  improvin'  fast!"  and  he  attempted 
to  pass  Rory,  who  now,  losing  all  control  of  himself, 
said,  — • 

"  Bad  luck  to  you,  you  cruked,  spiteful,  sawdhering 
owld  thief !  how  dar  you  say  the  like  to  an  honest 
man's  son  !  —  Stop  on  the  road,  indeed  !  —  stale 
ducks  !  Is  it  Regan  that  has  the  black  heart  to  say 
I  stole  his  ducks  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  know  it,  thin  !  "  said  old  Solomon,  be- 
coming provoked  in  turn. 

"  Know  it  !  "  said  Rory,  seeing  his  drift ;  "  it 's 
well  for  you  you  're  past  bating,  you  owld  cracked 
bottle  o'  vinegar  that  you  are !  or  I  'd  thrash  you 
within  an  inch  o'  your  life.  Away  wid  you,  you  owld 
sarpent !  "  and  he  flung  him  from  him. 

The  old  tinker  staggered  back,  and  made  a  great 
clatter  as  he  reeled  against  his  old  kettles  ;  but,  re- 
covering himself,  he  led  away  his  ass,  saying  to  Rory 
however  before  he  went,  "  I  hear  they  wor  uncom- 
mon fine  ducks  !  " 

Rory   was   startled  by  this   last  expression,  —  the 


Rory  0' More  261 

second  part  of  the  signal  given  to  De  Welskein.  — 
Was  it  chance  ?  or  did  the  old  tinker  mix  up  the 
slander  of  Regan,  and  imply  his  knowledge  of  Rory's 
mission,  in  the  same  breath,  to  puzzle  him  ?  While 
he  was  standing  in  this  state  of  perplexity  and  vexa- 
tion, De  Lacy  came  up  to  him  unperceived,  —  for 
Rory  was  looking  after  the  tinker,  whose  last  words 
De  Lacy  had  heard,  and  was  attracted  by,  and  ac- 
costing Rory,  who  was  taken  by  surprise,  said,  — 

"  Does  that  old  rascal  know  any  thing  about  our 
affairs  ?  " 

"  'Faith,  I  dunna  if  he  does,"  said  Rorj^,  with  an 
air  of  abstraction  that  struck  De  Lacy  as  peculiar. 

"  Is  it  not  strange,  that  he  should  use  the  words  of 
our  private  signal  ?  " 

"  Faix,  an'  it  is,  and  it  bothered  myself  at  first," 
said  Rory,  "  when  he  said  it  ;  but  I  think,  afther 
all,  he  knows  nothing  about  it,  and  that  he  only 
spoke  it  by  chance,  and  meant  something  else 
intirely." 

"  What  else  could  he  allude  to  ?  "  said  De  Lacy. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  about  it,  sir,  another  time,"  answered 
Rory  ;  "  for  it 's  a  long  stor)^,  and  you  'd  betther  not 
wait  for  it  now,  as  Mr.  Devilskin  is  in  the  house 
waitin'  for  you." 

"  De  Welskein  !  "  said  De  Lacy,  who  entered  the 
cottage  as  he  uttered  the  name. 

"  Bon  jour^  c'ltoyen  capitaine"  was  the  address  of  the 
smuggler  to  De  Lacy,  who  welcomed  him  in  return  ; 
the  smuggler  continuing  to  address  him  in  French, 
desired  a  private  interview  ;  De  Lacy  pointed  to  his 
bedroom,  and  the  Frenchman  entered  the  apartment. 
De  Lacy  followed,  and  as  soon  as  they  were  within 
the  room,  De  Welskein  pointed  to  the  lock. 

"  There  is  no  necessity,"  said  De  Lacy. 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  said  De  Welskein, 


262  Rory  O'More 

with  a  very  significant  shake  of  the  head,  and  one  of 
the  keen  and  cunning  glances  of  his  dark  eye. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  De  Lacy.  —  The 
Frenchman  laid  his  finger  on  his  lip,  to  impress  the 
necessity  of  silence  ;  and  though  still  speaking  his  own 
language,  which  was  sufficient  guarantee  for  secrecy 
in  an  Irish  cabin,  yet  the  importance  of  what  he  had 
to  communicate  was  so  great,  that  he  placed  his 
mouth  close  to  De  Lacy's  ear,  and  said,  in  the  most 
cautious  tone,  "  There  is  a  traitor !  " 

"  A  traitor  !  "  echoed  De  Lacy. 

The  Frenchman  nodded  assent,  and  added,  "  We 
are  betrayed." 

De  Lacy  thought  of  the  words  he  heard  Solomon 
utter,  and  said  quickly,  "  That  rascally  old  tinker  ?  " 

"  Vieux  chaudronnier  de  campagne  ?  —  No,  no." 

«  Who  then  ?  "  asked  De  Lacy. 

De  Welskein  subdued  his  voice  to  the  lowest 
whisper  and  said,  "  Rory  O'More  !  " 


END    OF    VOL.    I. 


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